


The Parts of You

by LadyOfPurple



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Identity Issues, Identity Reveal, Slow Burn, Suggestive Themes, in which teenagers are lovestruck idiots and i clearly have no soul, shenanigans ensue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 04:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 116,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10210028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfPurple/pseuds/LadyOfPurple
Summary: “I just…” Her hands migrated from covering her face to clutching her hair. Her ears matched her suit but her eyes were glowing with — what was that? Love? Admiration? His chest tightened. “I can’t talk to him! I always get tongue-tied, or say something stupid, or trip over my own feet. It’s so embarrassing! I mean, I’ve gotten better since we first met, like, we’re actually kind offriendsnow, but it’s kind of a big leap to go from ‘I can sort of string more than two words together in front of you,’ to ‘Please date me, I love you,’ you know?” His breath hitched at the word “love,” but Ladybug didn’t seem to notice. “Plus, it’s not like we’re super-close or anything. I mean,” she tittered nervously, “we’ve known each other for years, but it’s not like talking toyou.”If words could have killed him he would have been in his grave.---In which Identity Shenanigans™ make everyone's life way harder than it has to be.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------Canon divergent after season 1





	1. Chapter 1

“Pound it!” Their knuckles connected firmly, matching smiles for the cameras after another job well done. It was a quick but brutal fight — the Akuma was even more agitated than usual, mindlessly destroying all objects in its path, but thankfully none too bright, and the source of its corruption was easy to spot — and they had cleaned up in no time, not even needing to call forth a Cataclysm or a Lucky charm. Miraculously, no-one had been seriously injured, and even the small cuts and bruises the fight had inevitably produced were seamlessly healed when Ladybug purified the Akuma.

But they were both exhausted.

Chat Noir noticed Ladybug’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she helped the former Akuma to his feet, and even as she waved for the cheering crowd he could tell her heart wasn’t quite in it. He himself was struggling to stand up straight, wanting nothing more than to collapse on the grass and sleep for a million years. It had been a long week. She glanced back over her shoulder at him and something unspoken passed between them, her subtle expression telling him clearly that she wanted to go home just as much as he did, and he took the cue.

“Well, unfortunately, we must be off!” he called out cheerfully to the onlookers surrounding them, neatly sliding up to Ladybug and wrapping a casual arm around her waist. “My Lady, if you don’t mind.” He smiled for the cameras as she instinctively mirrored the movement, her slim arms nearly matching him in strength as she gripped his side. “Farewell, sweet Paris!” he called out dramatically, and his baton extended, rocketing them upwards in a sudden jerk to the gasps and cheers of approval from the rapidly shrinking crowd below them.

They hung for a moment in mid-air, suspended by momentum as Chat’s baton retracted, until Ladybug’s yo-yo caught on a nearby chimney and they swung forwards, disappearing into the skyline.

They crossed a few more streets in this way, until the crowds were far enough away that the screams and constant chattering had melted into the constant hum of city life, mercifully touching down on a rooftop near the Seine. As soon as they landed on solid ground, Ladybug snickered. “ _Farewell, sweet Paris?_ ” she said.

“Yeah, well,” he huffed as she disentangled herself from his arms. He briefly mourned the loss of her warmth. She smelled like honey and chocolate. “It felt right in the moment.”

She laughed. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“Eh, I’m tired.” He shrugged half-heartedly and grinned. “Besides, imagine how good it’ll look on the news later.”

“Ah yes, dramatic swooping. Always a good sell.” She stretched, which quickly turned into a yawn. “Ugh, I just wanna go to bed and not come out for like a week.”

“Only a week, my Lady? Surely Briar Rose sleeps for longer than that?” He caught her eye and she groaned loudly. “Yeah, that was probably the lamest one so far,” he admitted to her accusatory look. He flopped down on the sun-warmed rooftop and after a moment’s consideration she joined him, her prim cross-legged pose in stark contrast to his languid, outstretched form. They sat like this in silence for a while, looking out over the water. The Eiffel Tower glinted in the distance.

“You know,” said Ladybug suddenly, “I just realized, this is the first time in weeks where we haven’t had to immediately detransform after a battle.”

Chat opened his eyes lazily. “Oh, yeah.” He paused. “I guess it is.” Truthfully it hadn’t even crossed his mind until she mentioned it; Hawkmoth had been running them ragged the past month, with a new Akuma nearly every day. Adding that to school, modelling, and keeping up with his many extra-curricular activities, he’d barely had time to breathe, much less go on patrols — one of his admittedly more brilliant ideas from the very beginning of their partnership, a transparent attempt on his part to spend more time with Ladybug, which she had eagerly agreed to, clearly anxious to take her newfound role of “hero” seriously.

It quickly became apparent that patrolling the streets of Paris was hardly necessary. With security cameras on every street corner and a dedicated police force, petty crimes were for the most part beneath their concern, and Akumas tended to be loud and attacked mostly during the day. Thus their patrols devolved into simple horsing around; races and games of tag, superficial question games, a chance to simply spend time together. Lately though, there simply hadn’t been enough of the stuff. He regretted the Ladybug-shaped hole the last few weeks had left in his life, but more in the back of his mind. He’d just been too tired to care.

“We have _time_ ,” she breathed, a note of disbelief in her voice. “I’d forgotten what that feels like.”

“Busy lately, Bug?” he asked casually. She was usually so private about her life outside the one they shared that he almost felt guilty asking, but immediately squashed the idea. He wasn’t prying, and she never answered if she didn’t want to. Their relationship progressed in such odd spurts he kept having to remind himself that they were friends by now — it wasn’t as if he was demanding she unmask immediately. She’d probably kick his ass if he tried.

She sighed. “You wouldn’t _believe_ ,” she lamented. “The Akumas are keeping me busy enough as it is, but now that exams are coming up, I can hardly keep up at school. And my family owns a—” Here she paused, apparently considering her choice of words, “—a shop, and I’ve had to help out there when I’m not studying. And on top of all that, I can hardly sleep anyways because of Ad—” Her jaws snapped shut, eyes wide, a hand reflexively clamping over her mouth.

“Because what?” Chat perked up a little. This was interesting.

Ladybug looked pointedly anywhere but at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, but her voice was too loud. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Come on, you can tell me!” He scooted a little closer and nudged her shoulder. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“I—” Her face worked furiously, apparently fighting an inner battle over what, if anything, to tell him. “Well…” She sounded petrified.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said alarmed, backing off a little. She looked like she was going to be sick. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s just a boy,” she blurted, and immediately buried her face in her hands.

“…Oh,” he said. He sat back. “Huh.”

There was a faint throbbing in the base of his skull, and his stomach felt like he’d swallowed lead. Chat had always known, deep down, that she’d never taken his pun-riddled declarations of love even remotely seriously. It had turned into somewhat of a running joke, one which he took in stride as best he could. He’d always assumed she had boys falling all over her in “real life” — how could there not be, when she was so incredible? That didn’t mean the confirmation didn’t hurt.

“Well, what’s he like?” He worked hard to keep his voice level and his face as neutral as he could.

“He’s… he’s _perfect_.” Her voice was muffled but the words bounced around in his skull with perfect clarity. “He’s so smart, and kind to everyone, and he’s so pretty I want to _die_.”

“Sounds pretty great,” he agreed hollowly. He must be some next-level masochist deep down. “So what’s the problem?”

“I just…” Her hands migrated from covering her face to clutching her hair. Her ears matched her suit but her eyes were glowing with — what was that? Love? Admiration? His chest tightened. “I can’t talk to him! I always get tongue-tied, or say something stupid, or trip over my own feet. It’s so embarrassing! I mean, I’ve gotten better since we first met, like, we’re actually kind of _friends_ now, but it’s kind of a big leap to go from ‘I can sort of string more than two words together in front of you,’ to ‘Please date me, I love you,’ you know?” His breath hitched at the word “love,” but Ladybug didn’t seem to notice. “Plus, it’s not like we’re super-close or anything. I mean,” she tittered nervously, “we’ve known each other for years, but it’s not like talking to _you_.”

If words could have killed him he would have been in his grave. Chat was vaguely grateful she hadn’t looked over at him once during this ongoing declaration of love, because now he was the one who felt like _he_ was going to be sick. He would have sat down if he wasn’t already; he didn’t trust his legs right now.

“And of course he doesn’t know,” she babbled on, obliviously driving a metaphorical steamroller over her partner’s heart. “I mean, _obviously_ he doesn’t know I’m Ladybug, that would be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous,” he echoed. “Yeah.”

“But he doesn’t know that I _like_ him,” she clarified unnecessarily. “And I’ve wanted to tell him so many times! I almost have, too, but I always chicken out at the last second. Or I write a note and forget to sign it. My best friend has had it up to her _ears_ with me. She thinks I should just go for it, but—”

“You should.”

Ladybug looked at him in surprise. “What?”

“You should go for it,” Chat repeated, and was shocked by how… normal his voice sounded.

“I - well… But what should I _say_?”

“That you like him, easy.” _'Oh God, why can't I stop talking?'_ “You obviously care about him a lot, and he sounds like a great guy. Don’t go overboard. Just say that you think he’s cool, and maybe ask him to go do something.”

“What, like on a date?” Her voice reached a very un-Ladybug-like octave, and he was struck by the difference in her demeanor. He rarely saw this side of her; he couldn’t remember if Chat ever had. _Adrien_ had — a memorable encounter in his bathroom came to mind — but she was so different around Chat Noir. He wondered if there was something wrong with him.

“Well, you don’t have to phrase it like that if you don’t want to. Does he go to your school?” She nodded hesitantly. “Perfect, then ask him out to lunch or something. Hang out after school. Heck, even a study date would work, as long as you spend time together.” He leaned back and spread his lips in a wide grin he hoped she couldn’t tell was as fake as his tail. “There! Problem solved.”

Ladybug hesitated, curled in on herself and chewing her lip in contemplation, and she looked so much like, well, a normal teenager that his heart ached. “Do you really think so?” she asked nervously. He swallowed his urge to kiss her.

“Ladybug,” he said earnestly, “if he doesn’t immediately start planning your wedding, he’s absolutely insane.”

She laughed at that, her cheeks flushing. “One step at a time, Kitty,” she said, but the hopeful note in her voice killed him all over again.

She got up and brushed dust off her legs. “Well, I should probably get going,” she said, gazing one last time over the horizon. The sun was noticeably lower in the sky, and Chat was surprised at how long they had been sitting there. His foot had fallen asleep. “My parents are probably starting to worry, what with the Akuma and all.” She glanced down at him. “Are you going to stay for a little longer?”

“Yeah,” Chat agreed vaguely. He had homework and Nathalie would probably tear him a new one if she discovered him missing. Just because it happened to be Saturday didn’t mean he was free to roam Paris unsupervised.

Ladybug hesitated, and then knelt down and hugged him. “Thank you, Chat,” she said softly. “It’s… it’s really nice to know I can talk to you about this stuff.” The scent of honey washed over him again and he subconsciously squeezed her just a little bit tighter.

“Any time, my Lady,” he replied softly as she pulled away. “I just want you to be happy.” And it was true. He just wished in that moment she could have been happy with _him_.

She smiled warmly and zipped away, leaving him to his thoughts. As he watched her retreating figure, he sighed, ignoring the sinking weight in his chest. Then he shook his leg awake and pole-vaulted in the opposite direction, letting momentum take care of the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tour guide voice] And if you look to your left, ladies and gentlemen, you will see that the author has decided to open her story by completely crushing one of the protagonists emotionally.
> 
> Listen. This is my first ML fic. I also haven't written fanfiction in 4 years. Where am I going with this? Who the fuck knows.
> 
>  **EDIT:** Removed the Single Manly Tear™ because what the fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I write a metric fuck-ton of dialogue to make up for the fact that I don't know how to words.

“I’m gonna tell him.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“No, I’m serious this time.”

Alya didn’t even look up from her phone. “What, like the last 15 times?”

“That’s not fair.”

“It is when it’s true.”

“Hey!”

Alya shrugged. “Am I wrong?” she asked rhetorically.

“I — well, no, but I’m dead serious, I swear.” Still no reaction, so Marinette grabbed Alya’s hand. “At lunch. We’re all still going out, right?”

Alya glanced up in amusement, but Marinette actually looked… determined. Her face was flushed and her blue eyes glinted with some internal blaze Alya had only ever seen when Marinette had been working on a particularly difficult sewing project, or when she was standing up to Chloé. She lowered her phone. “Yeah, I mean, I think so.”

“That’s when I’ll tell him, then.”

“Holy shit,” breathed Alya, “you’re actually serious.” Marinette nodded, and then yelped loudly when Alya pulled her into a bone-breaking hug. “ _Oh my God, it’s happening!_ ” she squealed.

“I know!”

“Oh my God.” The girls broke apart but Alya still kept a tight grip on her shoulders. “Okay, spill.”

“Spill what?”

“What happened to you? Where’s the stuttering, neurotic Mari we all know and love?”

“Nothing happened! And I am _not_ neurotic.”

“ _Ooh, I’m Marinette! I forget my entire vocabulary whenever that Adrien Agreste is around, he’s just sooo dreamy!"_

“Shut up, I do not sound like that.”

“ _You_ shut up, you totally do. And _obviously_ something happened over the weekend, because on Friday you called me in a panic in the middle of the night because you had a dream that he tried to hold your hand. Now it’s Monday, and you’re trying to tell me you just _magically_ decided to ask him out?” Alya snorted. “Girl, _please_.”

“I just…” Marinette hesitated. “It’s just getting silly at this point, don’t you think? I mean, I’ve been crushing on him for, what, three years now? And I was just thinking, you know, that if I’m not ready now, then _when_?” She looked away, scuffing a pebble on the ground with her shoe. “I mean, I can’t just… not say anything. But he’s famous, y’know, and handsome, and it’s not like he doesn’t have a lot of options. I don’t want to wait too long and miss my shot.”

Alya scooped her back up in a hug. “Aww,” she mock-sobbed. “My little baby’s growing up!”

“Ah, quit it,” protested Marinette, but she didn’t push away. If anything her smile widened, equal parts embarrassment and excitement. She was positively glowing.

“Oh crap, class is starting soon.” A quick glance at Alya’s phone and suddenly she was all business. “Meet me out front the _second_ the bell rings! I mean it! We have no time to waste.” The girls gathered up their bags and headed for the front entrance of the school. Alya paused before they parted ways in the hall, throwing one final grin over her shoulder at Marinette. “I better be maid of honor at your wedding, by the way.” She barely ducked the crumpled wad of notebook paper aimed at her head as she skittered away, cackling.

Nino was the first of the group Alya saw when she finally cleared the milling crowd of fellow students pouring out of the school at lunch, raising a hand in greeting, which he returned. She made a beeline for him and was surprised to see he was alone.

“Isn’t Adrien in your class?” She craned her neck, trying to pick out any faces in the crowd she recognized.

“Usually, yeah, but I guess his dad’s been trying to rearrange his schedule, or something?” Nino grimaced. “Adrien is _apparently_ getting a lot more offers for more ‘mature’ photoshoots since puberty hit him like a bus. Plus his dad’s been trying to put him in more advanced classes, or just more in general. Something about public school not ‘providing the necessary challenges’ or some bull. He’s up to nearly 35 hours a week now.”

Alya’s jaw dropped. “Are you _kidding_ me? The school year practically just started!”

“I wish I was.” He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his text messages. “I guess his dad wasn’t too happy about Adrien wanting to stay in school with us. It’s almost like he’s trying to make the guy either drop out or work himself to death.”

“And this is on _top_ of all that other stuff his dad’s making him do?” She snorted in disgust. “No wonder we’ve barely seen him since summer.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I’m shocked on a daily basis that he hasn’t just curled up and died.” He tapped a few keys and a few seconds later a small _ding_ answered. “He says he’s on his way. Another photoshoot.”

“Where does he find the time to _sleep_?”

“My guess is he doesn’t. Or at least, you wouldn’t think he does by the look of him.” Nino shoved his phone back in his pocket with an angry huff. “It’s not healthy.”

Alya clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

Marinette appeared suddenly by her shoulder. “What’s not healthy?”

“Adrien.”

“He’s got too much going on,” complained Nino. “And I’m not just saying that because I miss my best friend. I get that his dad’s not exactly the easiest person to negotiate with, but I wish there was some way he would get it in his head that Adrien’s not some kind of robot—”

“What about me?”

Nino spun around. For a guy easily surpassing Marinette by a head at least, Adrien was apparently surprisingly quiet. He must be nearing 180 centimeters at least, Alya noted. Maybe 185. Nino hadn’t been kidding when he said puberty had hit him like a bus.

Even though she’d seen him sporadically throughout the past month, Alya was shocked at how different he looked from the last time they had hung out. His frame was slightly leaner, his biceps more prominent, jaw more defined. There was only so much puberty could do in a month, obviously, and if their contact had been more constant lately she might not even have noticed. But the difference, however subtle, was there, and it was striking.

When she got over the initial shock, however, she started to see what Nino had been talking about. At first glance he appeared very put-together — very modelesque. But if she looked closer she picked up the details; subtle creases under his eyes suggesting concealer, hair not quite tamed in the back, his usually clean-shaven cheeks prickling with stubble. He looked gaunt, like someone a clothing size too small was wearing his skin for the day. His normally perfect posture made his slight slouch today all the more noticeable. If he’d slept more than three hours a night the whole past week she would eat her hat.

“Just wondering when you’d show up,” she said casually. She shot Marinette and Nino a quick look as she sidled closer to Adrien to give him a high five. “I hear you’ve been breaking hearts at Vogue today.”

“It was Marie Claire, actually. And I don’t know anything about any broken hearts, but the photographer almost broke one of the ring lights while trying to take some shots upside down.” He grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t ask.”

“Well, I for one am craving something entirely unhealthy and absolutely _smothered_ in cheese,” Alya proclaimed, hooking arms with Adrien and slinging the other one around Nino’s neck. She flicked her eyes at Marinette, who took her subtle cue to trail beside Adrien, albeit nervously. A step in the right direction, she supposed.

“Oh, I know this really great place,” Marinette chimed in. “It’s a couple of blocks from here, but it’s pretty cheap and the food is good.”

“Is it greasy?” demanded Alya.

“Uh, I guess? It kind of depends on what you get.”

“Good enough for me,” said Nino.

“Awesome. Lead the way, Marinette!” The boys offered no protest as Alya frog-marched them down the street.

The café itself was pretty empty, and they snagged a table in the tiny back courtyard. September was nearing its end, but the air was pleasantly warm. When their food arrived Alya wasted no time regaling them all with tales of her most recent adventure attempting to livestream an Akuma attack, and soon they were all chatting and joking like old times. As Nino recounted an unfortunate incident involving a de-caffeinated science teacher and a frog dissection gone wrong, Alya kept half an eye on Adrien. He appeared to be relaxing for the first time in a month, if Nino was to be believed. The difference was striking. He still looked tired, but the tension was gone from his shoulders, and his smile was finally reaching his eyes. She would have to keep a close eye on him. _‘Or hopefully,’_ she thought, stealing a glance across the table, _‘Marinette can do that for me.’_

Marinette was certainly having the time of her life, it seemed. She was definitely happy to see Adrien — her entire being brightened up every time he opened his mouth. She still looked a little nervous, but not as much as before; her cheeks were still flushed, but her hands were steady and her voice normal. Playful even. He looked pleased to see her too, laughing at her jokes and listening attentively whenever she contributed to the conversation. Alya watched them with satisfaction. Yep, they could definitely do worse.

“Hey, Nino,” she said suddenly when they’d all finished eating and fallen into a comfortable silence. “You wanna come help me pick out a dessert?”

“Ugh, I think I’m too full to—”

“Aw, c’mon,” she insisted, dragging him to his feet. “If I bring Marinette I’m only going to end up buying one of everything and that’s how you get fat. You’re the only one who can help me decide.” She pushed him firmly inside the café.

“Since when do you care about getting fat?” asked Nino incredulously after they’d successfully navigated their way to the display case up front.

Alya snorted. “Since never,” she said. “Marinette’s gonna tell him.”

Nino blinked in surprise. “What, for _real_?” Alya nodded. Nino let out a low whistle and readjusted his snapback. “No way.”

“I know, I couldn’t believe it either! Apparently she had some kind of epiphany over the weekend about this going on for too long and not wanting to miss her shot.”

“Well, good for her,” he said sincerely. They considered the variety of cakes through the glass as a waitress hovered a few meters away. “You know,” he said after a few minutes, “I think this would be a good thing for him right now.” He glanced at Alya. “I think _she’d_ be good for him. He needs something stress-free in his life, something _good_.”

“Me too,” she agreed. She bent over to read the label next to a small frilly cake dressed in pink swirls. “I’m so glad they’re finally going to—”

“Marinette?” Nino interrupted. Alya swiveled around to see her friend hurrying for the door.

“Oh, gosh, wow, didn’t see you guys there!” Marinette stopped so suddenly a passing busboy nearly crashed into her with a tray full of wine glasses, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I was just on my way home, didn’t even notice how late it was getting!”

“It’s barely one o’clock, Marinette,” said Nino slowly. “We don’t even need to head back to school for another half-hour.”

“Why are you going home?” asked Alya, concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Why would anything be wrong?” Marinette tittered. She was gripping the strap of her purse like she was hanging on for dear life and her face was slightly green. “I just feel a little sick, that’s all. Oh gosh,” she said again, looking down at her watch, “would you look at the time!” Her arm was quivering.

“Marinette, what’s wrong?” Alya’s concern was rapidly shifting from worry to mama-bear level protection instinct. “What did he say? Do I have to kick his ass?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just don’t feel good, that’s all.” Marinette’s voice had risen an octave and the fakest smile Alya had ever seen was plastered unwaveringly across her face, like a nightmare version of a holiday catalogue. “I think I’m just gonna go home now.” She flitted through the door before either of her friends could react.

“Wait, Marinette!” Alya called after her desperately and ran for the door, Nino hot on her heels. They burst onto the sidewalk, but Marinette was nowhere to be found.

"Marinette!"

" _Marinette!_ "

In the distance, unnoticed by either of them, a red shape disappeared over the rooftops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I wonder if Adrien will reject her too," you say. "I hope you don't go with the double turn-down route," you say. "Whoops," I say.
> 
> In my defense I had already mostly written this chapter before I saw any of the comments, so at least I didn't ruin your lives on purpose. I have a plan, I swear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I use way too many adverbs and completely butcher writing Tikki.

When Marinette got home she fumbled out an apologetic excuse to her parents about why she was home so early, and they must have seen something in her face because they allowed her to continue up the stairs to the apartment without protest. With Ladybug’s speed she had made it home in record time. Could it really only have been 10 minutes since she left the café? She floated through the living room in a daze, pausing only briefly to snag a cookie from the kitchen for Tikki — pure, automatic habit at this point.

Only up in her room with the hatch downstairs safely locked did she stop completely, standing numbly in the middle of her room, staring vaguely at the collages of Adrien’s face scattered about her walls. “Marinette?” came a tiny voice from her purse, and Tikki flitted into view. “Marinette?” she tried again, uncertainly.

Suddenly Marinette was laughing. Hoarse, high-pitched belly laughter. “He’s in love with _Ladybug_!” she choked, tears streaming down her face. She was doubled over, clutching her stomach while she laughed hysterically. “He’s been in love with Ladybug _this whole time_!” Her voice cracked. “He’s been in love with me for three _fucking_ years, and he doesn’t even know!” Suddenly she was crying. Somewhere along the line the barks of laughter had morphed into sobs and somehow she was on all fours, chest heaving.

The day had started out so well, too. The sun was shining, lunch was good, Alya was supportive and excited. It should have all worked out like a dream. So when Nino had been dragged off inside and it was just her and Adrien, she had cleared her throat awkwardly.

“So, how’ve you been lately?” she asked, nervously tucking her hair behind one ear.

“Oh, you know,” he said, “exhausted, mostly. It’s really nice to get out for a while. Get a chance to breathe.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, and smiled. “It’s really nice out today.”

“Yeah,” he said, and they were silent for a moment.

“Hey,” she said, and hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt, “I was wondering… what are — I mean, are you doing anything later?”

“Uh… probably.” He shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, it’s been that sort of week. Why?”

“Oh, well, um…” She fidgeted, keeping her eyes fixed on her empty plate. “I was just wondering if maybe you would… like to hang out sometime. Maybe come here again. Or something.” She peeked up at him through her bangs.

“You mean with all of you guys? Yeah, of course, this pretty much the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

“No — well, I mean, _yes_ , but I was actually thinking… just you and me.” It was out. Holy crap. It was _out_. She’d said it and she hadn’t _died_. Her hands, clutching the napkin she’d absent-mindedly grabbed at some point, started shredding the paper between her fingers to keep from shaking. There was a pause.

“…Are you asking me ou—”

“I really like you,” she blurted out, and instantly felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “I… I have for a while, and I just wondered if… maybe we could…” She wasn’t sure how to end her suggestion so she didn’t, letting it trail off into a dozen possible implications.

“Marinette,” he began, but she cut him off.

“I mean, no pressure, of course!” she babbled. Shredded a little faster. “Just, like, two friends who maybe like each other having lunch together. Right?”

“Marinette, I’m flattered, really, but—”

“Or we could go to the movies? Or maybe just take a walk? I could show you my favorite spot on the Seine, it has a gorgeous view of the Eiffel Tower—”

“I like someone else.”

Her jaw snapped shut.

He sighed heavily, face in his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

She was silent, eyes fixed on the table.

“Marinette, you’re really nice, and funny, and pretty, and I’m really flattered, honestly. I just have so much going on right now, and you deserve someone who can _be_ there for you.”

“And you like someone else?” Her voice came out as a whisper.

“…Yes.”

“Is it Chloé?” She asked the question before she could stop herself, and dreaded the answer.

“No.”

“Is it… can I ask who?” ‘ _Oh my God, please stop talking.’_

He hesitated. “I — it’s not important. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have asked—” But something in her mind clicked in that moment, a split-second in which the hesitation turned to a careful answer, interrupted by a fleeting look of fondness. A couple of months ago, when Nino was teasing Adrien about his obsession with Alya’s Ladyblog. That same look of — what was that? Love? Admiration? — crossed his face as he looked at a picture of…

“You like Ladybug.”

It was a simple statement of fact, but it ended up sounding like an accusation and he had the grace to look embarrassed. “I — I know it’s stupid.”

“No, no, absolutely not! I understand. I shouldn’t have pried.” She couldn’t feel her limbs. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Tikki, safely hidden under the table, poke her head out of Marinette’s purse and gently stroke her wrist with those tiny red paws of hers. It triggered something. She stood up suddenly and Tikki tumbled back into the void of the purse with a minute squeaking noise.

“I should probably get going now,” Marinette said brightly. The shredded bits of napkin curled in the air as she stood up, falling gently from her lap to the ground.

“No, Marinette, I’m sorr—”

“Don’t be!” she said in that incredibly false, cheery voice. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I just… wanted you to know.” He was blurry around the edges and there was a loud rushing in her ears.

“Please don’t go, Mari, I didn’t mean…” He reached out to touch her arm but she flinched. Not much, but enough to notice and he recoiled instantly, like she had physically shocked him.

“It’s fine, I’m just not feeling well.” Her stomach was writhing and her knees were unsteady, like she’d been running for hours, with a pulse to match. “I’ll see you later!”

He was lowering himself back into his chair as she turned tail and fled, looking as if the last few minutes had aged him ten years, at least. He looked so, so tired. She had done that to him.

“Marinette, I’m so sorry.”

Tikki’s soft voice broke Marinette out of her trance and she blinked, finally seeing the wavering lines of her hardwood floor. She wondered vaguely how she ended up on all fours.

She gathered herself together, and sat back, sniffling. “He likes me, Tikki,” she said in a small voice. “He just likes the wrong part of me.” Tears streamed down her cheeks but she made no attempt to stop them. They dripped unhindered down her dress and a few lucky ones landed on the floor between her knees. Tikki was silent.

Marinette curled in on herself, as if she could will herself smaller. “All this time, and I’ve been competing with an idealized version of me with superpowers! Without even knowing it! And we can never be together because I can’t be with someone who doesn’t like the me without the mask, and he can never know who I really am anyway! I’ll can’t even measure up to _myself_.”

“Marinette, that’s not true!” said Tikki sternly, taking Marinette between her tiny paws and lifting her chin up so she could look into the girl’s eyes. “Ladybug isn’t better than you. Ladybug _is_ you, and Marinette isn’t lesser than Ladybug just because you don’t wear a mask.” She gently wiped a tear away before it could escape down Marinette’s chin. “I know it’s really hard to see that right now, but you’re still the same person on the inside, regardless of how other people see you.”

Marinette shuddered, rubbing one of her eyes. Mascara smudged on her hand and she was struck by the sudden thought that she must look a mess. “I just…” She caught a glimpse of one of the magazine cutouts of Adrien above her desk and her voice broke. “I just loved him so much, Tikki.”

“I know,” said the kwami sympathetically, and Marinette cupped her hands around her tiny body, hugging her close. “But it’s not the end of the world.”

Marinette giggled wetly in spite of herself and wiped her eyes. She realized suddenly that her phone had been buzzing violently since she got home, so she reluctantly picked it up. “Alya’s been calling,” she said, her heart sinking. Thirteen missed calls and a flurry of texts increasing in desperation.

“You should answer her.”

“I don’t feel like talking right now,” she protested weakly.

“At least let her know you’re okay,” suggested Tikki. “She’s probably worried about you.”

“That’s an understatement.” She sighed wearily but typed out a brief _‘I’m sorry I ran off like that, but it didn’t go well and I’m not really up to talk right now. Text you later.’_ The buzzing ceased immediately. She felt a sudden surge of affection for her best friend, who always gave her the space she needed. She gave Tikki a small, watery smile.

“Now, go get yourself a drink of water,” said Tikki in a motherly tone. “That should make you feel better.”

Marinette picked herself up off the floor and padded to the bathroom. The water did help, but she caught a look at herself in the mirror as she wiped off her mouth. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her skin sallow, makeup smudged and hair in disarray. The emotional rollercoaster she'd been on suddenly caught up with her and she felt numb, drained.

She splashed some cold water on her face and shrugged out of her dress, not bothering to pick it up from its heap on the floor, and shuffled to her bed, climbing the stairs slowly and crawling under the covers. Tikki fluttered about, fussing with her hair and plumping pillow corners.

“I don’t want to go to school tomorrow,” she confessed, tucking herself in up to her chin.

“At least Alya will be there,” comforted Tikki, smoothing out her chosen’s bangs. “She won’t pry, and she always knows how to cheer you up.”

“Yeah.” She had escaped Nino and Alya’s increasingly frantic questioning that day by the skin of her teeth, barely swinging away on her yo-yo by the time they’d followed her outside. She cringed thinking back on how she had acted, but felt a surge of warmth towards her best friend for asking whether or not she should kick Adrien’s ass. It was an empty threat and they both knew it — Adrien had done nothing wrong, and Alya would never in a million years touch a single blond hair on her “Sunshine Child’s” head, not that Marinette would have let her anyway — but it was the thought that counted.

“I shouldn’t have flirted with him as Ladybug,” she mumbled absently, very nearly asleep already. “I can’t believe I cock-blocked _myself_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally every commenter from the last chapter: i fucking knew it
> 
> I'm half-drunk and running on less than no sleep. I wonder if you can tell.
> 
> In other news, La La Land completely ruined my life and I got hit on by my friend's boyfriend. How was your weekend?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I reuse jokes and drag myself.

Adrien couldn’t sleep.

The Akumas had tapered off in the past few days, creating a sudden but not unwelcome lull in his superhero duties, but that didn’t mean he spent any less time in his suit. He spent most of his nights roaming the streets of Paris, hoping to run into Ladybug, but so far, he’d had no luck. The irony wasn't lost on him.

When she showed up for Akuma attacks she was professional and waved for the cameras, but never stuck around. He hadn’t seen her on patrol in weeks. When he did see her, she seemed slightly _off_ , taking a split-second longer to react than usual, or her smile not quite reaching her eyes as journalists yelled out questions and the adoring public at large screamed their appreciation. She shut them all down with airy excuses and pleasantries before speeding away, but he caught a slight heaviness in her movements when they fought, hinting at some inner fatigue. It was subtle, and he was pretty sure nobody else noticed. Then again, he knew her better than anyone.

He wondered if her distraction had anything to do with her mystery boy. _‘He must be taking up all of her time,’_ Adrien thought bitterly, readjusting his pillows. Lord knew he wouldn’t be able to stay focused on anything else if _he’d_ been the one she confessed to. He rolled over and stared at the ceiling.

He hoped she was happy. He sincerely did. His only goal in life was to make her smile. He didn’t regret telling her to go after the guy, he just wished she hadn’t started completely ignoring him when she did. That hurt more than any accidental rejection ever could.

He sighed and kicked off his blankets. Another restless night as the personification of bad luck, it seemed. He padded over to look out over the skyline. The night was clear, the moon almost full. “Plagg?” he called out softly. A non-committal grunt answered from his couch. “I can’t sleep. I think a run will clear my head.”

“Not tonight, kid,” came the petulant reply. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“You’ve been sleeping all day.”

“Nngh, details.” A tiny paw waved the offending words away and long whiskers twitched. “Why don’t you, I don’t know, look at cat videos or whatever it is you humans do to cheer yourselves up? All this brooding you’ve been doing is completely distracting.”

“Distracting from what? Stuffing your face, or sleeping 20 hours a day?”

“Both!” Plagg sighed dramatically. “My poor, beloved Camembert, going completely unappreciated and unsavored! Some of us have more important things to do than moon over Ladybug.”

Adrien ran a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t understand.”

“What, you think I haven’t seen this before?” Plagg floated up from his perch on the armrest to hover in front of Adrien’s face. “It’s the same story every time. Ladybug and Chat Noir meet, one falls in love with the other, pining and identity shenanigans ensue. It’s the same thing over and over, only this time around it’s somehow even _more_ cliché.”

“But—”

Plagg interrupted. “Listen, kid, you’ll get over it. It might seem like the end of the world, but I promise you it’s not. Now get me some cheese, and _maybe_ I’ll think about a transformation.” The kwami’s tone was that of a primary school teacher explaining that one plus one equals two to a particularly dull first-grader for the fifteenth time in a row, but Adrien appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. He crossed his room and silently opened his door. The hallway was dark and silent.

He navigated his way carefully down the stairs to the kitchen and retrieved the cheese without incident, hurrying as quietly as he could back up to his room. He was thankful Nathalie had the night off. He’d gotten caught doing this once. He had no interest in repeating the experience.

Plagg took his sweet time gorging himself, smacking his tiny lips and making over-exaggerated noises of delight. “Such richness,” he exalted. “The exquisite aromas alone…”

“Hurry it up, will you?” Adrien demanded.

The kwami let out a long-suffering sigh and swallowed the remaining morsel of cheese. “Oh, very well, if you insist.”

“Plagg, claws out!”

Moments later, a lean, black-clad shape slipped out the window.

Flying across the rooftops, he found himself once again headed down a familiar route. Alighting on a chimney, he gazed across the street at Marinette’s family’s bakery. All the lights were off. They must be asleep. _‘Like every other normal person in this city,’_ he thought.

He felt a familiar twinge in his chest when he thought back to that day. Marinette was a good friend — a little spazzy, perhaps, but sweet and energetic — and he regretted hurting her the way he did. He didn’t mean to. When she started babbling he’d wanted to let her down easy, gently. He tried to. But she wasn’t listening and it just slipped out. “ _I like someone else_ ,” oh please. He was madly in love with a girl whose name he didn’t even know, and who had already rejected him even if she wasn’t aware of what she’d done.

It wasn’t that he didn’t — or couldn’t — like Marinette. He _did_ like her. He’d simply been too blinded by his love for Ladybug that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of anyone else. He might have even agreed to the date if she’d just… waited. Just waited until life had calmed down and he had the time to deal with the Ladybug situation. But then he had to go and ruin everything, and now he couldn’t even apologize. She’d been avoiding him ever since that day.

When Marinette had vanished Alya been distraught, Nino had told him afterwards. The only reason she had been dissuaded from interrogating Adrien about the whole thing was Nino reminding her that there were two of them, and she was the best one suited to focus on Marinette. Adrien hadn’t wanted to talk at all, but Nino was quiet and didn’t push and somehow he ended up laying it all out anyway. How he tried to let her down easy but she kept interrupting him. How he didn’t mean to hurt her feelings but he was so overwhelmed it happened anyway. How she flinched away and vanished, and how horrible he felt when she was gone.

Nino had understood, and promised to talk to Alya for him. “She’s pretty upset, but it’s mostly just because Mari was acting so weird when she left,” he explained. “She gets so protective, but she’s not, like, mad or anything. Not that you did anything to be mad _about,_ but girls are weird. I don’t think she considered the possibility that you wouldn’t go for it.” He had glanced over at Adrien apologetically. “To be honest, you kind of threw me for a loop, too. I mean, I know you’ve got a lot going on but… I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I kind of thought she was your type, I guess.”

That was the thing though — wasn’t she his type? Although they had a bit of a rocky start, she’d become a pretty good friend as time went on. Sure she acted a little strangely around him sometimes, but he never thought…

There were times when he caught himself looking at Marinette with an appreciative eye, wondering if maybe, just maybe… They weren’t super-close, but they had a lot in common and there was no denying she was pretty. He enjoyed her company. But of course every time he started imagining what his life would be like if he gave up his celebrity crush Ladybug would swoop back into his life and he was back to being blinded.

And it wasn’t just a celebrity crush anymore. It may have started off that way, but now there was a deeper level of understanding between them, an unshakable bond built on absolute trust. They were more than friends, they were partners, and they routinely put their lives into each other’s hands without a moment’s hesitation. A harmless crush had blossomed into pure, unadulterated love. He was long gone, and she didn’t even realize how far.

He wanted to tap on Marinette’s window, see how she was holding up, but what would he say? They had never interacted much, her and Chat Noir. He had called her “princess” and they had short, friendly banter, but nothing about their previous meetings would warrant him randomly showing up in her bedroom, asking about her boy troubles. How would he even justify knowing about them? He would have to come up with some convoluted excuse to even be checking on her in the first place, and then casually bring their love-lives into the conversation… no. It wouldn’t work. He had to think this through.

Chat stood reluctantly and vaulted off towards the Eiffel Tower. He needed to get away, try to figure out what he could to as Adrien. He’d tried talking to Alya about it, but she shut him down gently. “She just needs a little space,” she said kindly, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ve been trying to talk to her about it but she won’t even tell _me_. I know it sucks for you too.”

“Will you tell her I want to talk to her when she’s ready?” he’d asked miserably. “I really didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Adrien, it’s not your fault,” she said seriously. “To be honest, I keyed her up and I shouldn’t have encouraged her to put you on the spot like that. You’re dealing with a lot of shit right now and it wasn’t fair to you, not now.”

“You didn’t do anything, Alya.”

“Just a case of bad timing, then.” She pulled him into a hug. “I know she still wants to be your friend,” she assured him, but her tone wasn’t quite convincing. “I’ll tell her.”

Chat sped over the rooftops, his legs pumping at breakneck speed. His muscles burned but he didn’t care. He welcomed it, even. Anything to distract him from his thoughts.

He finally stopped at the top of the tower, chest heaving and limbs shaking from exertion. It was quiet up here, even quieter than down on street level. But then he heard a tiny sound, a little hitching of breath so small he might have imagined it.

He whirled around. “Ladybug?”

She jumped visibly, scrambling to her feet from her perch a little ways away from him. “Chat!” she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes viciously. “I didn’t hear you come up.”

“I didn’t know you were here, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay, no worries!” She smiled brightly. “How are you?” Her eyes were puffy.

“I’m fine,” he answered carefully. He walked across the platform and leaned over the railing next to her. “How are you?” he countered gently. “Haven’t seen you around much.”

“Oh, I’m good. Great, actually!” Her voice was too loud again.

“Really. Well, that’s good, I suppose. Thought you forgot about me.”

“Oh — oh no, of _course_ not!” she assured him quickly. “I’ve just been super-busy lately, and I kind of forgot about patrols. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. I get it.” He sighed. “Been pretty busy myself, I guess.”

“Huh, well, that’s okay then.” They fell into an awkward silence.

“How did your date go?” he asked conversationally. Ladybug’s ears went red.

“Oh, um. Well, it… didn’t.” She turned away, staring intently across they skyline.

“What?”

“It, um, didn’t.”

Chat was stunned, a treacherous part of him secretly pleased. “You didn’t ask him?” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “What, did the cat get your tongue?”

Ladybug’s eyes filled with tears and he immediately backtracked in horror. “No, wait, don’t cry! I’m sorry—”

“He said he liked Ladybug more than me!” she wailed and suddenly, instinctively, he had wrapped his arms around her and she was sobbing into his chest. “ _Ladybug_ , can you _imagine_? I _am_ Ladybug!”

He felt a sinking wave of guilt deep in the pit of his stomach, guilt at the stab of pleasure he’d felt only moments before at the idea that her date had fallen through, guilt for making light of the situation, but mostly guilt for being That Guy. The kind of guy who would put a crush on a superhero in front of a girl he would actually have a chance with. The kind of guy that had broken his Lady’s heart.

“And the worst part is now that I _know_ , I can’t even try to get to know him as Ladybug,” she wept. He held her tighter, stroking her hair comfortingly. “Because it wouldn’t be _honest_ , and I would never be able to show him who I really am because he doesn’t _like_ that person.” The guilt intensified.

“Whoever he is, he’s an idiot,” he said vehemently, and Ladybug looked up at him with tears still streaming down her face. “If he can’t see what an amazing person you are without all the magic powers and fancy mask, he doesn’t deserve you and he’s an idiot.” He cupped her chin gently and stroked away a rogue tear. “Do you want me to kick his ass?”

Ladybug let out a strangled noise that might have been a giggle, but he wasn't sure. “Th-that’s what my friend said.” He let go of her and she sat down with her back to the tower, motioning him to come join her. He settled down and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close again.

They didn’t speak for a while, Ladybug’s soft crying subsiding as Chat gently stroked her hair. His heart ached for her. He wished there was something he could do.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. He looked down. She was wiping her eyes, settled against his chest. His gut twisted. “He didn’t owe me anything. It hurts, but I’m not mad at him for not going on a date with me.” She sighed. “I guess it’s kind of my fault for… I don’t know, just _assuming_ he liked me back. The _real_ me, not the superhero me. I used possible rejection as an excuse to not say anything sooner, but I never actually considered the fact that he actually _might_. Reject me, I mean.”

“It’s hard,” he agreed, and he wondered if she’d ever considered that possibility with him. Then again, she probably thought all his pick-up lines were just insubstantial bravado. He rarely gave her a reason to think otherwise.

“I don’t know why I ever thought it would work,” she said, quieter this time. “Even if he _did_ know I was Ladybug, if I showed him, how would I know whether he liked me because of _me_ , not just because I’m a superhero? He would never love _all_ of me.”

“That’s not true,” he said, and she looked up at him. “I may not know the name behind the mask, but I know _you_. You are kind, you’re selfless, and you’re brave. Those things don’t just appear out of nowhere. If he likes the things that make you Ladybug, then he likes the things that make you _you_.”

“It’s not the same,” she insisted, laying her head back down. “I’m not the same person without the suit. I’m clumsy, and stubborn, and impulsive...”

“I know that too, that doesn’t make you any less _purr_ -fect.” The lousy pun had the desired affect and she laughed. It was a weak, tired laugh, but he considered it a success.

“Well, by your line of thinking, the only person I could really date is you, then,” she said teasingly.

His mind short-circuited.

“Chat?” she said, sitting up when he didn’t answer. “Chat, I was joking.”

“Hah, yeah,” he managed weakly, trying for a small grin. She seemed satisfied and settled back.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around the past few weeks,” she said. “I didn’t mean to avoid you. I guess it was just really hard for me to be Ladybug right after I got rejected in favor of myself. It was confusing and I shouldn’t have let that affect us.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Bug,” he said sincerely. “I understand. I mean, I’ve never been cock-blocked by _myself—_ ” She slapped his chest and he grunted. “Oof.”

“Would you believe I thought the exact same thing?”

“Would you believe that I absolutely do believe that?” He sobered up. “But I’m serious. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I am _now_ ,” she said, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, “you wanna race?”

“Race?” she repeated.

“Yeah, first one to Notre Dame, winner gets to toss the other one off the top.”

“Why would I want to toss you off the top of the Notre Dame?”

“Ah, but you’re assuming you’ll win.”

“So you just really want to throw me off the top of a cathedral.” She sniffed lightly and stood up, wiping her tearstained face and smiling the first genuine smile he’d seen in weeks. “Fine, but you’ll have to catch me first.” And she was gone.

Chat grinned. _‘That’s my Lady.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fic is easily the worst thing I've ever written. But will I get a beta? Will I edit before I post?? Will I stop??? the answer is no.
> 
> It's disconcerting being in a fandom this big. I'm so used to my fics getting less than 10 hits in a year and 3 comments being like hitting the jackpot. Now people are _interacting._ Offering _opinions_ and _praise_. Is this the Twilight Zone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the level of quality y'all are expecting from my limited skillset is tOO DAMN HIGH

It was strange, living in a post-confession world. The day after it had happened, she had come home from school and Tikki had helped her completely purge her room of Adrien’s face. Her room felt so empty now, naked. Opening up to Chat and him being so supportive made Marinette feel _better_ , but it didn’t automatically make the situation _good_.  She was still avoiding Adrien. It had been nearly three months since the Café Incident, and it wasn’t getting any easier.

Part of her wished she would just Ladybug-up and get it over with, and she knew it could only get worse with the passage of time, but she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him. Her anxiety levels spiked if she saw him in the halls, and she always ducked out of sight as soon as she noticed him. It was like collège all over again, except now her stomach dropped for entirely different reasons.

Alya and Nino could feel the tension too — it wasn’t exactly hard to miss — and, bless their hearts, they tried to broker peace as best they could. They had several times tentatively brought him up in conversation, but whenever they did she stiffened and the hint in her forced casual tone was easily picked up so they inevitably dropped it. They were still friends with Adrien, of course, so they split their time between the two when it became clear Marinette was having exactly none of that.

Nino was sweet but they both knew he was way more Adrien’s friend than Marinette’s, so one-on-one conversations were superficial at best. It was better when Adrien was out of school and he and Alya joined Marinette in breaks. Alya, on her part, grew increasingly frustrated as Marinette blocked every chance to talk she was given. “Just listen to what he has to say, already!” she exploded one day at lunch, after Marinette had dragged her into a broom closet to avoid Adrien, who had been digging through his locker and hadn’t noticed them. “He wants to talk to you! He feels horrible, and he’s going through enough as it is.”

“I’m not ready to face him yet, Alya,” said Marinette, avoiding eye contact.

“He’s trying to apologize! He likes you, Marinette. I know it fucking _sucks_ that he doesn’t like you like _that_ , but he’s your friend and this is getting ridiculous.”

Her outburst was completely justified, of course, and Marinette knew it, but it didn’t magically make her hunt him down. She knew she was being childish, and she knew he didn’t deserve it; she’d said as much to Chat. But that didn’t mean she was emotionally prepared to deal with that reality.

Instead, she threw herself into her classes. She was ahead of her homework every night, and every second she wasn’t solving algebra problems or analyzing classic literature was spent in costume, flying above the streets of Paris. She let the wind take care of her problems for her, swooping across the night sky and sprinting over rooftops. She was in the best shape of her life, and still she pushed harder, further. It was funny, really, that swinging on a yo-yo wearing magical Spandex in public was easier than talking to a boy. In her defense, he _was_ famous.

Well, so was she, but at least _she_ wasn’t famous specifically for being heart-breakingly gorgeous.

Chat had picked up on her routine at some point and had taken to showing up at odd hours, since their patrol schedule had been completely thrown off. Tonight was no exception. “Fancy meeting you here,” he drawled as she alighted on a rooftop ledge.

She grinned. “Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were following me, Chat Noir,” she teased.

“Following you? Like some common criminal?” He clutched his chest with a pained expression. “My Lady, you wound me.”

“I’m sure.” She made her way to the edge to sit down and he joined her, the both of them dangling their legs as they looked out over the skyline.

“Anything on the agenda tonight, Bug?”

“Not particularly. Why, did you have something in mind?”

“Oh, I’m sure I could come up with something.” He caught her eye and smirked.

She snorted, but good-naturedly. “I’m sure you could.”

He had cut back on the pretend-flirting for a while after their talk and for that she’d been grateful, but at the same time their banter just didn’t feel right without it. As the pain from Adrien’s rejection eased — slowly, _achingly_ slowly — she had even begun to miss it, anything to distract her from the other blond-haired, green-eyed boy in her life, but she couldn’t very well just ask him to start hitting on her again. What an awkward conversation _that_ would have been. But he’d started very tentatively the past couple of weeks to reintroduce cheesy pick-up lines on his own and she was glad. Chat always knew how to make her laugh.

“So,” she prompted. “Hit me with your best shot.”

“Hide and seek?”

“Very sophisticated.”

 “Uh, sloppy makeouts?”

“For a guy claiming to be full of great ideas you sure aren’t living up to expectations.”

He gasped in mock outrage. “I resent that.”

“Well, then come up with something better!”

“Why don’t _you_?”

“Ugh, I don’t even know what I wanna do.” She laid down, looking up at the stars, legs still dangling. “My civilian life is so… _stressful_ lately, I guess it’s just nice to hang out with someone who _gets_ it. Y’know?”

“I… yeah, I know what you mean.” He crossed his arms behind his head and flopped down beside her, and they stayed like that for a while.

“This is nice,” Ladybug said finally. Chat made a small noise of agreement but didn’t say anything. She propped herself up on her elbows and glanced down at him. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for what you did that night. I mean _really_ thanked you.”

“A kiss is always an excellent way to thank someone,” he said cheekily, his eyes closed.

She laughed. “I mean it, Chat,” she said, “it really meant a lot.” She looked back up at the stars. “My best friend… My _civilian_ best friend, she’s a good listener, but I can’t tell her the whole story. She doesn’t know who I am, and she doesn’t know – she _can’t_ know why it’s so hard for me right now. Sure, rejection hurts, but being rejected because of who I am, because of _Ladybug_ …” She sighed. “She yelled at me today.”

There was a rustling as Chat sat up, readjusting his limbs so he could look at her easier. “Why?”

“Because I can’t even be in the same room as him anymore.” She curled in on herself, resting her chin on her knees. “It’s stupid, and childish, and it’s not his fault, but I just… can’t.”

Chat considered this for a moment. “Space can be good,” he ventured.

“Yeah, but not like _this_. We were _friends_. Or I liked to think we were.” She huffed and her bangs puffed up. “He keeps trying to talk to me but I won’t let him.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s easier, and because…” She hesitated. A realization she hadn’t wanted to admit, even to herself, was forming. “Because I’d rather be Ladybug than be myself.” She traced an invisible pattern on the stone ledge with her finger. “I think that’s why I’ve been out so much lately. To get away from everything. It’s easier to do that when I’m not surrounded by stuff that reminds me of how I’m basically two different people at the same time.”

“That’s not true.”

“How would you know?” she grinned, glancing at him. “I suppose you’re exactly the same when you’re out of costume, is that it?”

He shrugged. “Fair point,” he conceded.

Ladybug looked away, sobering up a bit. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m glad that we have each other,” she said gently. “You’re always there for me, even when I’m being an idiot, and I… I trust you. You’re the only person I can talk to about this stuff. You understand what I’m going through, with the identities and keeping stuff secret from the people we care about. You’re…” She hugged her knees tighter. “You’re my best friend.”

Chat was silent for such a long time that she had to glance over to make sure he was still there. He was looking at her with a very odd expression.

“That’s not… weird, is it?” she said uncertainly.

“It’s… no, it’s not weird.” Chat swallowed and his eyes were soft. He smiled, small, close-lipped, but the most… _genuine_ expression Ladybug had ever seen. “You’re my best friend, too.”

“Oh, well, that’s good, then.” She smiled back. “Guess we can be best friends together.” The atmosphere between them had suddenly changed somehow. Ladybug leaned back to support herself on her palms and looked back up at the stars to mask the unexplainable nervousness fluttering in the pit of her stomach. He was still looking at her — not staring, exactly, but there was something unidentifiable in his expression. _‘He must be pretty lonely,’_ she realized. He never talked about his civilian life at all, even in the vaguest of terms like her. Her heart suddenly ached for him.

“So,” she said. “How’s _your_ love-life?”

His face snapped from that warm gaze to an expression of utter confusion. “My what, now?”

She nudged his ribs playfully, part of her secretly glad the moment was over. “Come on, handsome cat like you?” she teased. “There must be someone. Aren’t you the one always trying to convince me you’re secretly some kind of Casanova?”

“I — that’s not…”

“Aha!” Ladybug crowed triumphantly. “You’re _blushing_! I _knew_ it!”

“Am not!”

“ _Sooo_ …” She leaned over expectantly. “What’s she like?”

“It’s doesn’t matter!”

“Sure it does! You know everything about _mine_. Fair’s fair!” He hesitated and she felt a twinge of guilt. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” she backtracked, but he waved it off.

“It’s just… complicated,” he said by way of explanation. He was chewing his lower lip thoughtfully.

“She’s… she’s pretty much the closest friend I have,” he said finally. “She’s really smart, and she always sticks up for what she believes in. And she’s really nice, always helping people.”

“Pretty?” prompted Ladybug.

“Gorgeous,” he sighed. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life.” There was that soft look in his eyes again as he gazed off into the distance, and his voice had taken on a dreamlike quality. “She makes me feel like I can do anything. And, I don’t know, just something about the way she… _is._ Her personality, her confidence, the way she carries herself. She makes the whole world seem brighter just by being there.”

The atmosphere had shifted again. Ladybug had never seen him like this before. He seemed to… glow. She didn’t know how to else to describe it. Something about the warmth in his voice, the strange expression on his face — whoever this girl was, he loved her. Like, truly loved her. The strange vaguely-fluttering sensation in her stomach returned but she barely noticed.

He cleared his throat suddenly and the moment was gone. “It doesn’t really matter,” he said. “She likes someone else.”

“What?” Ladybug jerked back to reality.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.” There was a tiny note of sadness in his voice but he said it plainly, like it was just a fact of life.

“But… you love her.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Why don’t you tell her?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it’s always been sort of… _implied_. I think she does know, on some level. I’ve tried to tell her outright a few times, but something always happens, y’know? Besides, she’s in love with someone else and I’m okay with that. I’m just happy being her friend.”

Something about the sheer amount of sincerity in his voice wrenched at Ladybug’s heartstrings. “That’s…” she began, and stopped. “Chat, I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He shrugged. “That’s just the way it is. Like I said, I’m fine with it. I’ve kind of accepted it’s never gonna happen. I mean, I’d be over the moon if it did, but I don’t want to tell her and risk putting our friendship in jeopardy. She’s the most important person in my life.” There was a pause. “Uh, present company excluded, of course!” he added hurriedly.

“Oh, I’m flattered,” she huffed, but warmed a little at the insinuation she was important to him.

“Why, are you jealous, Bug?” He grinned and suddenly the old Chat Noir was back, playfully waggling his eyebrows at her.

She crossed her arms and turned away with another dramatic huff. “Oh, in your _dreams_ ,” she said haughtily.

“Every night.”

He stood up, extending a hand to help her up and she took it. But when she was almost to her feet he tugged a little, sending her sprawling against his chest. “Of course, no-one could possibly compare to you, my Lady,” he practically purred at her.

There was a moment, a split-second moment, in which time seemed to slow. It was such a cliché scene, straight out of a TV movie, so over-the-top even for him that it would have been comical had she not been caught right in the middle of it. But him clutching her hand, bodies flush against each other, the moon cutting across his face… His arm was around her waist from when he had kept her from falling all the way over and they were poised as if to dance, a solitary waltz on a rooftop in Paris. Had his eyes always been that green?

Then he grinned and she pushed him away, outwardly laughing but inwardly confused. _‘What the heck was that?’_ she thought vaguely, unhooking her yo-yo from her waist. “How about that hide and seek?” she said aloud.

“No peeking,” he called, and melted into the shadows. She sighed and covered her eyes, coincidentally hiding her face as well. Only then did she allow herself to silently freak out, face twisting absurdly as she battled with the conflicting emotions bouncing around in her head. What the hell did this mean?

She was already anticipating another long, sleepless night ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every comment on this chapter: marinette u dense motherfucker
> 
> I was going to post this last night but it wasn't quite finished yet and I had to pull a last-minute all-nighter to hand in a huge paper that was due this morning, and then I got locked out of my dorm and had to wait for six hours for someone to let me in & im dead ok i _died_. Posting this from beyond the grave.
> 
> In other news, writing LadyNoir is _haaaard_. [indistinct whining noises]


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nino has become my unofficial Exposition Vessel™ and I feel bad for not updating every day so I throw in an extra 1,000 words.

Adrien slept soundly for the first time in weeks that night. There was something therapeutic about telling the girl you loved how you felt without the pressure of her knowing; no possibility of rejection. She had even called him her best friend. Seemed nervous about it, even. Now there was a high he could ride for weeks. And her face… It was cheesy, he knew, jerking her towards him like that for the most over-the-top line he’d ever pulled, but so worth it. She’d been blushing before she pushed him away.

Of course, when he woke up the next morning it was like the universe decided to make up for all the good luck it had accidentally bestowed upon him the night before.

It started with breakfast.

“Your schedule,” said Nathalie curtly as he picked at a plate of eggs. He took the sheet of paper from her and frowned.

“No school again?” he asked.

“This morning you are being fitted for the suits from the new winter line you will be modelling on Saturday,” she said promptly, “followed by an interview for Teen Vogue. The pictures for that will be taken tomorrow afternoon. If the interview doesn’t run for too long you may be permitted to attend classes, but you will be picked up by four for fencing. And at seven there is a benefit dinner at Le Grand Paris Hotel, which your father has requested you attend.” Her tone made it clear there was no negotiating.

Adrien glared in disgust at the timetable in his hand. “What’s the benefit for?”

“The conservation of bees.” She hadn’t looked up from her BlackBerry at all. “The car leaves in ten minutes, I suggest you get ready.”

He finished his eggs in four quick bites and trudged back up to his room. “Plagg,” he called softly, “we gotta go.”

A long-suffering sigh echoed from his loft. “All this rushing,” the kwami complained, floating over the railing and into Adrien’s waiting bag. “I will never understand why some humans insist on having such _inhumane_ schedules.”

“Believe me, I wonder that every day of my life,” grumbled Adrien, slinging the strap over his shoulder. He headed back down the stairs.

“I’m so hungry,” came a dramatic whine from somewhere between his books

Adrien shushed him. “I’ll try to grab some cheese for you when we get to the fitting,” he whispered. “Now be quiet.” The Gorilla was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “Good morning,” he ventured, but his bodyguard didn’t respond; he never did. Sometimes Adrien wondered why he even bothered trying.

The designer in charge of the fitting was insufferable. Adrien did his best to remain quiet and polite like he always did, but it seemed the man regarded him the same way he would regard one of his mannequins. He had been in the game long enough to understand that was essentially his function at this stage, but Adrien still had to concentrate very hard not to storm out of the room as the man tutted loudly for the fifteenth time in as many minutes.

“This won’t do,” the man fretted, a measuring tape around Adrien’s bicep. “This simply won’t do at _all_.” He snapped his fingers and a young woman started forward with a box of pins. “He’s completely _ruining_ the lines of the suit! Every time he’s in here he keeps getting larger. If this continues I really must insist he has a diet change or _something_ , or we may as well start carrying _plus size_.” He shuddered, as if the very notion repulsed him.

Nathalie, seated in a corner, tapped a few keys on her BlackBerry. “That will be taken under advisement.” Her phone rang and she answered with a sharp “Yes?” and left the room to take the call.

 _‘It’s muscle!’_ Adrien wanted to scream. _‘It’s muscle I’ve built from keeping this city safe!’_ Instead he counted each breath he made through his nose and tried not to glare. The girl holding the box of pins met his eye with a sympathetic look and he responded with a tiny, tight-lipped smile. At least he wasn’t completely alone.

He winced as a needle jabbed into his forearm. “Hold still,” snapped the designer, yanking him back into place. “Honestly, if you weren’t the boss’s son…”

There was a break announced an hour later and the designer swept out of the room, muttering vaguely about “complete disaster” and “artistic integrity.” Adrien managed to sneak a wedge of brie into his bag from the buffet table just before the pin girl approached him tentatively. She looked barely in her twenties, probably an intern. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she said.

“It’s not your fault,” he answered. “I’m used to it. But thank you.”

“If it’s any consolation, you’re really not that big,” she offered. “Definitely not fat.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I think he’s just so used to working with sticks he’s forgotten what real people look like.”

Adrien chuckled. “He must not be taking that new law very well.”

The designer burst back into the room and clapped his hands. “Alright, back to work, I need to finish salvaging what I can from this mess.” The pin girl skittered away, but not before shooting Adrien another encouraging smile. He sincerely hoped she was getting well-paid to work under that man.

Two hours later he was back in the car, pinpricks all over his body. The good night’s sleep was starting to wear off and he was tired, so tired. He wished he was back at school. He’d still be tired, but at least he wouldn’t be tired alone. Nathalie, on the other hand, looked as if she had come out of a box; not a hair out of place, no wrinkles or bags in sight. He wondered if she ran on batteries.

The lady from Teen Vogue was slightly more pleasant. The interview was a puff piece, so no difficult, existential answers required. For that he was grateful – he didn’t have the brainpower to come up with anything thought-provoking after the fitting fiasco. But of course, it couldn’t be that easy. Not with his luck.

“So, of course, we’re in Paris, so the most obvious question to ask is what are your thoughts on Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

Adrien nearly choked on his glass of water. “Well,” he said carefully, “I think they are providing a valuable service to the people of Paris.”

“Indeed they are,” the interviewer agreed, nodding. “But what do you think about _them,_ as people? You’ve met them before, haven’t you?”

“Briefly.” The woman was looking at him expectantly, but he didn’t elaborate.

“But you’ve been targeted specifically by Akumas before,” she prompted, looking down at her notes. “The fox girl, Volpina, tried to trick Ladybug and Chat Noir into thinking you were going to be dropped off the Eiffel Tower a few years back, and one of the very first Akumas targeted your house. And your father was controlled on national television by Jack—”

“It’s not fun,” Adrien interrupted her, “but Ladybug and Chat Noir are always there to save the day. The Akumas aren’t doing this stuff on purpose and there’s no lasting harm, so I don’t worry about it.”

“So is it safe to say you’re a Ladybug fan?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He smiled. The memory of last night resurfaced, the way her eyes had sparkled in the moonlight as she called him her best friend. He noticed the reporter staring and cleared his throat. “And a Chat Noir fan,” he added hurriedly.

Thankfully the interviewer didn’t dwell on the subject, instead turning the conversation to the upcoming Agreste line for the winter season, but Adrien was glad when the interview was over. He collapsed into the backseat of the car.

“It appears you have some leftover time,” said Nathalie, appraising his schedule. “Do you still want to go to school?”

The urge to go back home and take a nap was nearly overwhelming, but Adrien nodded. “God, yes,” he said. Nino could take his mind off things, if nothing else.

The drive was short but he still nearly fell asleep against the window several times. When they finally slowed to a stop in front of his school Nathalie reached over and opened his door for him, jerking him awake. “Remember, four o’clock sharp,” she said, not unkindly.

He climbed out, readjusting the strap on his bag. “Four o’clock,” he repeated wearily. She opened her mouth as if to say something but appeared to think better of it, instead closing the door behind him. Adrien stood on the sidewalk until the car turned a corner out of sight. When it was gone he sagged, letting his bag slip from his shoulder. Plagg tumbled out onto the sidewalk with an undignified squeak.

“I don’t know how long I can keep this up, Plagg,” said Adrien, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I’m barely keeping up with school as it is. Maybe I should just go back to tutors.”

“Then drop out,” said Plagg, dusting himself off.

“But if I do that, I’ll _never_ get to see Nino. Or Alya, or Ma—” He stopped. For a moment he had forgotten about Marinette. That she wasn’t speaking to him. The revelation drained him all over again.

“Then stay.”

“But I’m so _tired_.” Adrien collapsed on the steps up to the schoolyard. His head was pounding. “Apart from last night, I can’t have slept through more than four hours a night since _August_.”

“Maybe if Chat Noir didn’t spend half the night running after Ladybug you’d feel more rested,” Plagg said drily but Adrien shook his head.

“If I don’t see Ladybug, I definitely wouldn’t be able to get through the day,” he said adamantly. “She’s the only good thing in my life right now and I _need_ that. For my own sanity, if nothing else.”

“Well, kid, you’re going to have to give up _something_.” Plagg floated over and came to rest on Adrien’s knee. “What’s that saying about burning candles at both ends?”

Adrien sighed. “I know.” He pressed his fingers against his temples, massaging lightly. It helped, but his head still throbbed. “I wish I could give up modeling,” he admitted finally. “Or piano, or fencing. Or any of the other thousand things I have to do. I liked them better when they weren’t obligations.” He kicked angrily at a pebble and it rocketed down the sidewalk and skipped into the street. “Why are the only two things I actually have the power to give up the only things that make it worth getting through the rest?”

“The universe has a wonderful sense of humor.”

He snorted. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Plagg flew up and landed on Adrien’s shoulder. “How about this,” he said. “Get through today, then go home and take a nap after fencing. Then you can take a quick trip to see Ladybug, but just get back at a reasonable time. It’s not like she’s going anywhere, you don’t need to stay with her until morning.”

“Yeah, okay,” Adrien began, then frowned. “Wait, there’s a dinner tonight. At Chloé’s hotel.” He groaned. He’d almost forgotten.

“One of those fancy-pants things? With speeches?” Plagg snorted. “Even better. You show up, eat something, and disappear into the crowd. Slip out, see Ladybug, show up when it’s over and nobody’s any the wiser. Even more time to sleep when you get back. Problem solved.”

Adrien chewed his lip. It was definitely risky, but far more appealing than simply sticking around and brownnosing all night. If his father wasn’t there — _‘And let’s be honest,’_ he thought wryly to himself, _‘when is he ever?’_ — it was a simple matter of shaking off the Gorilla and avoiding Chloé for a while. As long as he could find Ladybug once he got out, he was good as gold. A slight weight seemed to lift off his chest. Not much, but enough to give him a little hope.

“I can see what I can do,” he said, smiling. He glanced at his kwami. “I’m surprised at you, Plagg. I didn’t realize you were so crafty.”

“What can I say?” Plagg said gruffly. “If you work yourself to death there won’t be anyone to buy me cheese.”

A faint bell rang. Students began pouring out of the building, chattering loudly. Plagg swooped into Adrien’s pants pocket as the boy stood up. “I should find Nino,” he said, picking up his bag. “Thanks again, Plagg.”

“Prove your gratitude with Camembert,” came the reply from his jeans. “That brie earlier wasn’t nearly stinky enough.”

Adrien scanned the crowd, spotting Nino’s distinctive bright red cap and wove his way through the sea of people. When he was close enough he raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, man,” he began, and noticed Alya trailing behind him. “Oh, hi Alya—” He stopped. Marinette was hanging off Alya’s arm.

When she saw him she went deathly pale, every ounce of color instantly draining from her face. She was clinging to Alya for dear life, as if that would somehow shield her from Adrien’s gaze. He cleared his throat. “Hello, Marin—”

She fled. A blink-and-you-miss-it moment, she turned tail and rushed off, nearly taking Alya’s arm off with her. They watched her disappear into the crowd and Alya made a move as if to follow her, and then stopped herself.

Nino hesitated. “Are you going to…?” he asked but Alya shook her head.

“I have tried,” she said in an annoyed tone, “for _so_ long to get her to pull herself together. I love her to death, but I am so _sick_ of—” She inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry,” she said to Adrien. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he said, but the metaphorical elephant in the room loomed over them and they still looked back in the direction Marinette had vanished.

“Let’s go get some food,” Nino suggested brightly. “You coming, Alya?”

She sighed and shook her head. “No, I… I should go find her. Make sure she doesn’t try to jump out of a window or something.” She sounded nearly as tired as Adrien felt. She shot him an apologetic look. “Sorry, maybe we can hang out this weekend,” she suggested. “Lord knows I won’t have anything else to do.” She disappeared behind a group of first-years and was gone.

“Why wouldn’t she be hanging out with Marinette?” asked Adrien but Nino shook his head.

“It’s a long story,” he said. “Let’s get something to eat first.”

On impulse Adrien steered them to the nearest fast-food restaurant once they were off school grounds. _‘Let’s see how_ this _affects the lines of your precious suits,’_ he thought savagely as he bought a large combo meal with an extra burger on the side, throwing in a chocolate milkshake for good measure.

They sat down in a remote corner booth and Nino began to explain. “So basically, Marinette hasn’t just been avoiding _you_ ,” he said, digging into his cheeseburger. “Marinette’s avoiding _everybody_.”

“Really?” said Adrien, surprised. “Even Alya?”

“ _Especially_ Alya.” Nino stuffed a few fries under the bun before taking another bite. “It’s weird. Like, she’s fine at school, unless she sees you, I guess. But Alya said Marinette’s been blowing her off for weeks, coming up with all sorts of excuses to not hang out on weekends or after school. Anything from babysitting to homework to helping out at the bakery. Pretty much anything’s fair game.”

This was the last thing Adrien had been expecting. “That _is_ weird,” he agreed.

“Right? I assumed they’d be glued at the hip after what happened, more than usual, I mean. Bitching about you, or whatever it is girls do.” He caught Adrien’s eye. “No offence, bro.”

“None taken.” A familiar weight was sinking into his stomach again.

“I like Marinette and all,” said Nino, “but this is starting to piss me off. Like, it’s not your fault you don’t like her back!” His tone was heated. “It’s even starting to piss Alya off, and you know she’s totally the mom-friend when it comes to Marinette. I mean, you saw her earlier.”

Adrien sighed. “You guys don’t need to defend me,” he said. “If Marinette doesn’t want anything to do with me–”

Nino cut him off. “Yes we do,” he said sharply. “No offence, but if you’re not gonna stick up for yourself on this one then somebody has to. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to us for getting stuck in the crossfire. I haven’t yelled at her like Alya has, but believe me, it’s been a few close calls.”

“Alya _yelled_ at her?” There was a twist he hadn’t seen coming.

“Yeah.” Nino shoved another bite of burger into his mouth. “Marinette shoved her into a broom closet trying to avoid you in the hall.”

“ _What_?”

“She used to do it all the time, back in collège, and we all thought it was cute because she liked you,” said Nino conversationally. “But we’re practically adults now. It’s been months, and yeah, it sucks, but come on.”

Adrien’s food lay forgotten on the tray. “ _We all_?” he repeated. “Did _everybody_ know?”

Nino nodded. “Pretty much the whole class knew. I think Kim started a betting pool on whether or not she’d tell you by the time we graduated.”

Adrien sat back in his seat, stunned. “So all those times she looked at me funny, or said something weird…”

“Yeah.”

He’d thought for a long time that she hated him, after the gum incident. Even when she started being kind of friendly towards him, he’d assumed it was because Nino and Alya were friends. But she’d liked him the whole time? Got tongue-tied because he made her nervous? Walked into walls and dropped things when he walked into a room? Because she _liked_ him?

The guilt from That Day came over him in waves. Just when he thought he couldn’t have been more of a jerk, he finds out she’d been crushing on him this whole time, for nearly as long as he’d liked Ladybug. Except it wouldn’t even have been a crush at that point; for that amount of time it would have been bordering on full-blown love. Just like Ladybug. _‘If she’d just waited…’_ He picked at a cooling french fry.

“Alya’s losing her mind,” said Nino’s voice dimly in the background. “I keep telling her she should just give up for a while, leave Marinette to do her own thing, but — hey man, are you okay?”

Adrien sat back up. “I… I had no idea,” he said weakly.

“What, really? I knew you were dense, but _seriously_?” Nino started to laugh but caught himself. “I just mean,” he corrected himself, “she wasn’t very subtle about it. Even Chloé knew. Probably part of why she used to hang on you so much at school, because she knew it would make Marinette jealous.”

It made sense when he thought about it. He and Chloé had been friends for a long time even before he went to public school, and even though he knew she had a little crush on him back then she never seemed to cling on him quite as much as she did when they were at school together. She’d laid off quite a bit the past couple of years, despite dropping very large, obvious hints that she wanted him to take her on a date sometimes. But now that she and Marinette didn’t have any classes where the three of them were together, he supposed there wasn’t a reason for her to be quite so showy about it anymore.

“I… see,” he managed.

“Hey, dude, don’t stress about it.” Nino reached across the table. He grabbed Adrien’s hands, which had begun picking at his nails. “It’s not a big deal. You know now, right?” He squeezed lightly and offered an encouraging smile.

“I guess.”

“Now eat.” Nino patted his wrist one last time before digging into his own meal with gusto. Adrien tried to mirror the enthusiasm but his heart wasn’t quite in it anymore. The weight in his stomach had robbed him of most of his appetite.

On the way back to school Nino chattered about this and that, clearly trying to take Adrien’s mind off things, but he was only half-listening. He needed to fix this. Not only to assuage his own guilt, but for Marinette herself, as well as Nino and Alya. As they crossed walked through the front doors and parted ways, Adrien had made up his mind.

No excuses anymore. He had to talk to Marinette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> France passed a law banning "excessively thin" models a couple of years back, from what I've read. Just in case you were wondering about the real-world applications of that one throwaway line up there.
> 
> Side note: my updating schedule is going to be a little haphazard now that the first few chapters are out. College is kicking my ass (0/10, do not recommend, just say no, etc.) and I'm getting really good at writing myself into corners. I'll probably still update fairly often, but not as much as I'd like.
> 
> And even though I haven't replied to any of the comments, just know I read every single one and they literally make my day. I crave validation and whether deserved or not y'all are throwing it at me in spades. I cannot express how amazing it is that people are even reading this, much less (apparently) loving it. Thank you all so much!!
> 
> (Don't worry, I'll go back to being distant and sarcastic in future notes. Just let me bask for a minute.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is Drama™

The library was quiet, the moderate chatter of students catching up on their studies muffled against the rows of books and sheer height of the vaulted ceiling. Marinette sat alone at a table in a remote corner, pretending to be engrossed in a textbook about… well, she didn’t know what. It wasn’t important. Just a prop to discourage people from trying to talk to her. On the inside she was screaming.

She had to stop this. It was getting ridiculous. She wasn’t a kid in collège anymore. She was a responsible goddamn adult.

As if on cue the doors opened and Alya burst in. Marinette stiffened as she saw her friend’s eyes quickly scan the room and zero in on her. She subconsciously sunk lower into her chair but the damage was done. Alya was already on her way over.

“This,” she said, sitting down across from Marinette, “has got to stop.”

“I can’t do it,” said Marinette weakly, setting down her book. “Every time I think I can, I see him and I just…”

“Just _what_ , Marinette?” Alya demanded. “Run away? Hide? Throw me in a _broom closet_?”

“I said I was sorry about that,” protested Marinette, but Alya shook her head firmly.

“You have an excuse for everything! And I love you, but what the _hell_? Need I remind you that you never actually dated?” Her voice was rising and she paused, breathing deeply. “If he dumped you,” she continued in a harsh whisper, “sure, I could get behind it. If he cheated on you, _of course_. But he _didn’t_. He hasn’t done anything to deserve this and quite frankly, Nino and I are exhausted.”

Marinette stared at her hands. “It still _hurts_.”

“So?” She looked up and Alya was staring her down, a hint of actual annoyance in her eyes. “So _fucking_ what? He doesn’t owe you anything! Just because you like someone doesn’t mean they’re obligated to like you back!” She ran her fingers through her hair, exasperated. “I get that this is your first heartbreak and all, but _God dammit_ , Marinette, do you even _realize_ how shitty you’re being? Not just to Adrien, but to _me_?”

Marinette tore her eyes away, guilt rising like bile in her throat. Alya’s voice was breaking, but Marinette couldn’t tell if it was from frustration or hurt. “Did you ever even think about that?” she asked, and Marinette’s own eyes burned. “I know you’re avoiding me, but I don’t know _why_.”

What could she possibly say? That she couldn’t deal with being herself, so she buried herself in an alter-ego that spent every night skimming across the skyline? Let another boy shower her in meaningless flattery to stroke her ego? “I’m sorry,” she said instead, softly.

Alya looked like she wanted to say something else, but she stopped herself and stood up instead. “Whatever,” she said hoarsely. “Let me know when you’re done with…” She waved her hand, gesturing vaguely at the space between them. “Whatever this is. I can’t deal with this right now.” She spun on her heel and was gone, disappearing through the library doors with a swish of her red hair.

Marinette scrubbed viciously at her eyes, willing herself not to cry. How could she have been so selfish? She hadn’t even considered what this was doing to her friends. She wanted to go after Alya, try to explain, apologize, but she couldn’t do that without outing herself. For a wild moment she considered the implications of doing just that. Would it really be so bad? It would make the whole situation easier, certainly. She would have someone who finally knew the whole story. Chat knew _most_ of it, but…

She shook her head subconsciously, trying to erase that train of thought. That wasn’t fair to Chat. If anyone deserved to know first, it was him. And what about Hawkmoth? Alya had already been Akumatized twice, and she couldn’t risk Lady Wifi coming after Marinette instead of Ladybug.

And then there was the Ladyblog to consider. As much as she trusted Alya, there was that niggling doubt in the back of her mind. The Ladyblog had been focused on unmasking her for so long, how could she guarantee her identity was safe if she told the blog’s _owner_? The main driving force behind Paris’s collective identity theorizing craze?

She buried her face in her hands. This was such a mess.

“This is such a mess, Tikki,” she muttered aloud. Her kwami made a small noise of sympathy from under the collar of her jacket.

“Marinette?”

She froze. She knew that voice. _‘Please no, no, no…’_ She peeked through her fingers and immediately snapped them shut again. _‘Oh, shit.’_

“A-Adrien,” she squeaked, hands migrating from her face to her hair. Her mouth had gone completely dry. “Wow, didn’t see you there.”

“We need to talk,” he said. He pulled out the chair Alya had recently occupied and didn’t so much sit as collapse into it. The dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises.

“I… I should really…” Her hands struggled nervously with her bag but he reached across the table and she stilled.

“Please, Marinette,” he said. He wasn’t touching her arm, just hovering like he was afraid to close the last few inches, and that simple hesitation broke her heart. Even after the shit she put him through, he was still afraid to push, still granted her respect she absolutely didn’t deserve at this point. “I just… I really need to talk to you. I know you don’t want anything to do with me, but please, hear me out.”

Her throat had closed up and she could barely breathe. She couldn’t move either, and when she didn’t bolt Adrien seemed to take that as a sign to continue. “I’m sorry, Marinette,” he said softly. “I’m really, really sorry about what happened. It was never my intention to hurt you the way that I did, and I _never_ meant for it to end up like… this.”

Marinette couldn’t see him through the blurring of her tears. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said thickly, looking away.

“I _do_ ,” he insisted. He moved chairs, so he was next to her suddenly, without a table in between. “I _do_ , Marinette. I hurt you, and now you can’t even be in the same room as me anymore. I’m sorry I can’t return your feelings the way you want me to, but I want to fix this in any way I can.” He ducked his head, trying to meet her eyes. “I want to fix this,” he repeated gently. “I miss being your friend. I miss _you_.”

That did it. Marinette broke apart at the seams and she sobbed quietly, burying her face in her arms on the table. She could vaguely hear Adrien’s panicked whispers of “ _Shit_ , don’t cry,” and “The librarian’s going to have our heads for this,” but she didn’t care. All the guilt and the avoidance and the anxiety she had been suppressing for the past three months came crashing down around her in waves.

“Y-you didn’t do anything wrong,” she hiccupped, her voice muffled. “I-I’ve been an idiot and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay—”

“No, it’s not.” She lifted her face up to look at him, and his arms were hovering, his eyes wide, looking like he wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how. “It’s h-hard to be around you r-right now, but I s-shouldn’t have _disappeared_ like that. Y-you didn’t d-deserve that. I should have j-just _said_ something.”

His face had an unidentifiable expression on it, pain and sympathy mixed with something she couldn’t put her finger on. “I understand,” he said gently, his voice hoarse. “I know how that feels. It’s okay.”

Marinette sniffled. “Y-you do?”

“Yeah. Trust me, I get it.” He let his hands fall, a small, sad smile quirking up the corner of his face. He was so devastatingly handsome, exhausted as he was, that her gut twisted all over again. “I don’t want to… _force_ you to come hang out with me, if you’re not ready. I just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m glad we can clear the air a little bit.”

She didn’t say anything, didn’t trust her voice anymore. Adrien cleared his throat and stood up. “Just… let me know when — _if_ you feel ready to hang out again,” he said, and her heart stuttered at the correction. “I’d… I’d like that.”

“Okay,” she whispered, but she wasn’t sure he heard her.

He offered on final, tiny smile before he left. When he was gone her lip quivered again, tears blurring her vision. She had to get out of here. The adrenaline that had flooded her since he said her name was making it hard to sit still and her hands shook as she tried to sling her bag over her shoulder. Standing up her legs threatened to collapse beneath her weight, but she still practically sprinted from the library, ignoring the sour choruses of “Shh!” that followed her out the door. She ran down the halls and out the main doors, pelting down the sidewalk until she couldn’t take it anymore, lungs burning, thighs quivering, skidding to a stop in an empty alley somewhere.

“Tikki, spots on!” she panted, and seconds later Marinette had vanished, and Ladybug swung through the skies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Marinette's behavior around Adrien in this fic is 95% based on how I dealt with my first heartbreak. I, too, was 17 and a complete idiot. The only real difference was that I didn't have a superhero alter-ego to hide behind and the people in our friend group didn't try to talk me out of being an idiot because they thought he was annoying and used his rejection of me as an excuse to freeze him out.
> 
> Pro-tip from a seasoned heartbreak veteran: don't do that. If someone rejects you (especially if you're friends to begin with), they're probably feeling almost as uncomfortable with the situation as you are. It sucks but it's not the end of the world. Don't be a dick.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which protective-lowkey-best-friend!Chloé is the best Chloé and Nathalie fails to suppress her motherly instincts.

Adrien hadn’t realized exactly how much the Marinette Situation had been weighing on his mind until it had been — at least partially — resolved. It was like a giant burden had lifted off his shoulders and although fencing afterwards was grueling, it was exponentially easier to focus now that he’d finally been able to directly address the problem with her. When he got home he made a beeline for his room and fell asleep the instant his face hit the pillows, waking up an hour and a half later to a banging on his door.

“Adrien,” called Nathalie’s slightly muffled voice as he blearily rubbed his eyes. “It’s time to leave.”

He padded across his room in the vague direction of the sound, opening his door to see Nathalie, poised as if to knock again. She blinked at the sudden lack of barrier between them. “You’re… not even dressed yet,” she said incredulously.

“What time is it?” He tried to hide his yawn behind a hand and failed.

“Nearly seven. How are you not ready yet? You’re expected at the benefit any minute!”

“I’m sorry, Nathalie. I just… I fell asleep as soon as I got home.”

She paused, flicking her eyes briefly in appraisal of him and her expression softened a bit.

“I… suppose we can afford to be a little late…”

“Really?”

“Your father will not be attending,” she said by way of explanation. Her face was impassive but he caught a glimpse of understanding in her eye.

“Thanks, Nathalie,” Adrien said gratefully.

“You have half an hour,” she said sternly, but he caught a hint of a smile as she spun on her heel and clicked away, closing the door behind her.

He threw on the first suit he saw in his closet, a black Agreste original. It occurred to him while he changed that he had no idea of the dress code, and could be very well committing a social faux-pas by not wearing a tuxedo. Not that he particularly cared; his father wouldn’t be there to criticize his fashion choices.

He paused momentarily, considering his ties. There was a standard black, the obvious boring blues and reds, a yellow he was sure would earn him favor points with Chloé, and a frankly alarming purple paisley he was sure would give his father an aneurism if he saw it.

On the other hand…

In a fit of impulsivity, he grabbed the one on the end; an electric green. _‘If my father could see this, he’d flip his lid,_ ’ he thought with vague satisfaction. He wasn’t even sure where he’d gotten it. He tied it before he could think better of it.

He trudged to the bathroom and splashed some cool water on his face, running damp fingers through his hair as he appraised his reflection in the mirror. He certainly felt better than he looked. The dark circles under his eyes had lessened slightly, but they were still fairly harsh, so he dabbed on some concealer.

The effect wasn’t bad; his eyes still looked sunken, but now it was less like he had been punched in the face and more like he was channeling an indie fim’s romanticized image of a tortured artist. Perhaps a young adult novel’s brooding love interest. He fiddled with his hair and the effect only increased, so he gave up with a sigh. There was no time to shave his face, so the stubble would just have to do. He met his reflection’s gaze with resignation. This was as good as it was going to get, apparently.

Plagg floated in and snickered. “Channelling someone tonight, are we?” he said snidely.

Adrien sighed again. “I feel like I belong in an art house film from the seventies,” he complained.

Plagg lounged on a pile of towels. “I was thinking more of a certain superhero I know,” he drawled.

Adrien considered his reflection again with new eyes. He hadn’t thought of it like that, but now that the comparison had been drawn he certainly saw more of Chat Noir than Adrien in the mirror. The tie was a bold choice, but he’d thought of it more as a subtle dig at his father. Gabriel Agreste had never been particularly fond of green in any shade, and seemed to particularly abhor anything approaching neon. But his father wouldn’t even see it, not in person at least. And wasn’t this Chat’s signature color?

His eyes seemed brighter, paired with the tie, and without slicking back his hair all he really needed was a mask and a pair of ears. Even a bit of that Chat Noir confidence was sneaking up on him. He grinned. “Yeah,” he agreed finally. “I guess I kind of am.”

He was interrupted by a knock on his door and Nathalie calling his name again. Adrien opened his suit jacket. “Ready, Plagg?”

“Just don’t get carried away,” his kwami grumbled, zipping into the exposed inside pocket.

“Coming, Nathalie,” he yelled, shoving his feet into a pair of shiny dress shoes.

The hotel wasn’t far away and the car ride was brief. Press was clustering at the entrance and even through the tinted windows Adrien could already see Chloé in her signature lemon yellow, lapping up the attention and swirling the skirts of her strapless evening gown. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t gone with the yellow tie.

Nathalie fretted with his hair as the car rolled to a stop. “I wish you hadn’t fallen asleep,” she said, an uncharacteristically motherly tone in her voice. “Your father will have my head when he sees the press coverage tomorrow.”

“It’s fine,” he reassured her, gently removing her hands. “If he does say something, blame it on me. It’s my fault I took an unscheduled nap.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but Nathalie turned stern again. “Don’t apologize for that,” she chastised. She straightened his tie and was suddenly all business again. Whatever had come over her in that moment had passed. “Remember to smile,” she instructed, and pushed him out the door.

The press went wild as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. Choruses of “Over here, Adrien!” and “Where’s your father tonight, Adrien?” deafened him as he smiled blindly for the cameras. The flashes were going off like mad, and suddenly someone shoved a microphone in his face. “Is this a Chat Noir-inspired look you’re wearing tonight?” someone shouted. “There have been rumors of a Ladybug and Chat Noir inspired line coming soon from the Agreste company, can you comment on that?”

“I — um, well…” he stammered, but Chloé had spotted him and swooped in.

“Adrien, _darling_!” she crooned, latching onto his arm and smiling broadly for the cameras. “So glad you came!” In a harsh whisper out of the corner of her mouth she muttered, “You looked like you needed a hand.”

“Thanks, Chloé,” he whispered back.

“Let’s go inside, there’s someone I’m simply _dying_ to introduce you to,” she said loudly for the benefit of the reporters, and breezed past them, Adrien struggling to keep up. There were a few photographers inside, but nothing like the mob out on the street. Adrien breathed a sigh of relief as they swept into the main ballroom and found a remote corner away from the mingling guests.

“Thanks, Chloé,” he said again, and she let go of his arm.

“I haven’t seen you in _ages_ ,” she whined. “Where have you been? Are you avoiding me at school again?”

“No, I’m sorry, Chloé. Things have just been really… hectic lately.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“No kidding. You look terrible,” she commented, and he flushed.

“Sorry, I didn’t have time to get ready properly, I fell asleep—”

She waved a hand dismissively. “No, your outfit is amazing. Seriously, if I didn’t know any better, I’d even say you could actually pass for Chat Noir, in a pinch.” Adrien considered this irony as she continued, “Anyway, what I _meant_ was, what is this half-assed concealer job? You look like you just rose from the grave. And is that—” Her hand darted forward, scratching his cheek.

“ _Ow!_ ”

“Aha!” She stuck her finger triumphantly in front of his nose. “A dead skin flake! Have you even been _moisturizing_?”

Adrien clutched his cheek. “Uh…” He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d washed his face at all, but he didn’t dare tell Chloé that.

“You _haven’t_!” she exclaimed, scandalized. “Oh my God, what is _with_ you lately?”

“I told you, I’ve been busy,” he said defensively. “I haven’t been avoiding you at school, I’ve barely been at school at _all_. I’m sorry if I made you feel neglected but—”

“That’s not the point,” Chloé interjected. “You look half-dead, Adrien. What kind of schedule do you have that prevents you from _sleeping_?” She waved the finger accusingly at him. “Or _moisturizing_?”

“Look, Chloé, it’s not that bad,” he said despairingly, but Chloé was on a roll.

“I’m going to find that assistant of yours and give her a piece of my mind,” she seethed, digging through her clutch. She found her phone and held it up like a trophy, but was apparently too incensed to actually do anything with it.

“It’s not Nathalie’s fault, she’s just doing her job, what my dad wants…”

“Then I’ll give _him_ a piece of my mind!” she countered primly. “Honestly, I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but if he expects you to make a living off your looks, you need time to _cultivate_ them.” She patted his cheek. “Genetics can only take you so far.”

She swooshed out her skirt and struck a pose. “Take me, for example. Am I stunning in general? Of course! But this level of godly beauty you see before you takes _time._ It takes _effort_. Being drop-dead gorgeous isn’t just a _gift_ , it’s a _lifestyle_. And if you slack in your duties, you may find your modelling career cut tragically short.” She gestured pointedly at the bags under his eyes.

He grinned in spite of himself. “Are you calling me an ugly has-been?” he teased.

She snorted and flipped her hair, which was pinned at the sides but out of her usual ponytail. “Compared to me? Absolutely.” She took his arm again and squeezed his bicep. “What the… Have you been working out?”

“Um… sort of?” he admitted vaguely.

“ _Sort of?_ You feel absolutely _ripped_ ,” she marveled, feeling his arm up and down. “No wonder you’re exhausted, you should lay off the gym for a while. Not that I’m complaining,” she added, sneaking a hand across his chest. “I would _pay_ to see those abs of yours.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said, eyeing a photographer inching towards them. “Unless you want to end up splashed all over the tabloids in questionable positions with the Agreste poster child.”

“I could think of worse fates,” she shrugged, but joined him as he traversed the ballroom to mingle with the crowds. Adrien heard a small snort from inside his jacket and he shushed it.

“Did you say something?” asked Chloé.

“Ah, no, I just… would you like something to drink?” Adrien said hurriedly.

“Oh, yes, I’d _love_ something to drink,” she gushed. Adrien disentangled himself from her arm and rushed off in the direction of the long buffet table that stretched the full length of one wall. “Hurry back!” she called after him sweetly.

“That Chloé girl is insufferable, isn’t she?” said Plagg conversationally as Adrien reached the table, his voice slightly muffled from inside the pocket.

Adrien grabbed the nearest wedge of Camembert and shoved it into his jacket as surreptitiously as he could. “Quiet, you,” he hissed.

There was a loud smacking and Adrien checked quickly to make sure there was no-one within earshot. “I’m glad she seems to care about you,” Plagg continued with his mouth full, completely disregarding Adrien’s paranoia, “ _someone_ should, but does she have to be so _shrill_ with her caring?”

“You’re the only one being ‘shrill’ right now,” muttered Adrien, snagging two glasses of champagne off a passing waiter. “And if you don’t stop, someone’s going to notice you and then the cat’s out of the bag.”

“ _C_ _at out of the bag,_ ” Plagg snickered, “oh, that was good.”

“I’m serious, Plagg, shut up,” he whispered as he approached Chloé again. “Your champagne, madame,” he said smoothly at normal volume, with a tiny bow.

“My God, are you cosplaying right now?” she laughed, taking the offered glass. “Way to get into character. Do it again!”

He grinned and swept down low, maintaining eye contact. “M’lady,” he purred obnoxiously.

She smacked his arm. “Okay, that was seriously creepy. Never do that again.”

“As you wish.” He sighed dramatically. “My charms are clearly unappreciated among mere mortals.”

“Oh _please_ , as of right this second, you _have_ no charm.”

Chloé began chattering about an “absolutely _hideous_ sweater Sabrina bought without me, honestly, she should be _banned_ from shopping _forever_ , I wish you could see it, you would just _die_ ,” and Adrien sipped carefully from his champagne flute. With his lack of sleep and nothing substantial in his stomach since lunch, the alcohol would probably make him pass out if he didn’t pay attention. But on the other hand, everyone else in the room was drinking, regardless of age — it was practically expected — and he didn’t feel like warding off Chloé’s inevitable interrogation if he discarded his drink.

He’d just have to nurse this one glass for the rest of the night. No big deal.

He listened with interest as Chloé detailed her latest dating escapades, and realized how much he’d missed hanging out with her, even at such a stuffy event. She was his oldest friend, and once she’d gotten over her bratty, clingy phase in collège, they had once again become close. He knew what his other friends thought about her — indeed, what the majority of their school thought about her, as far as he knew — but he didn’t really care. She still had her catty, shallow moments, of course, but she was there for him, and had been when there was nobody else.

Although he had to admit he was glad she’d grown out of a lot of her nastier public behaviors, and wasn’t quite a bully anymore. It had been hard to stick by her in collège, but she was better now. More mature.

“…And of course,” Chloé was saying loudly, “now it was up to _me_ to dig the carrot out of the—”

_CRASH!_

There was a deafening chorus of screams as the grand windows shattered and the wall exploded inward, raining rubble and dust on the patrons as they stampeded away from the now gaping hole in the wall. A giant spiderlike creature with dozens of spiny legs crawled through, a woman’s elongated torso rising from the space where its head should have been. The Akuma — that was the only thing it could possibly be — screeched something unintelligible as the crowds beneath it scrambled every which-way, everyone running into each other as they tried to escape.

Adrien spun around to look at Chloé, who was frozen in fear. Her eyes were wide and her skin was ashy — whether it was from the dust or from terror he couldn’t tell.

“Chloé?” he said loudly, trying to be heard over the noise. He shook her shoulder.

“I — it… ahh…” Her mouth flapped, like she was trying to speak but couldn’t find the words. She was clutching his arm so tightly her knuckles were white.

“Chloé!” He smacked her face lightly — barely more than a tap, but it did the trick. She snapped out of it and finally met his eyes. “Run.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not incorporate Chloé into this story more than I originally planned because I love her so much but [Thomas Astruc voice] no spoilers ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> In case you were wondering, the legal age for purchasing alcohol in France is 18 (my Google searches were disagreed on whether or not there is an age limit on actual consumption). Pretty much everybody in this particular fic is around 17, but I figured Chloé and Adrien drinking champagne at a "public" event was reasonable because A) they're rich and famous people among other rich and famous people so they could probably get away with it, and B) they're teenagers. And I did try to research paparazzi laws because they're apparently a lot more strict than what I'm used to, but if I got anything wrong that you notice feel free to correct me.
> 
> Also, _Mass Effect: Andromeda_ releases in Europe in 2 days and I think I might actually cry.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I clearly have never been to medical school and I almost forgot where I was going with this.

Ladybug heard the Akuma before she saw it, the crashing of falling rubble and distant screaming loud enough to be heard several blocks away where she had been zipping over rooftops. The echoes meant that it took a few minutes to locate the source of the commotion, and when she arrived most of the onlookers had scattered. She felt a vague sense of annoyance at the sight of Chloé’s hotel being the source of it all, but at the same time the sight of the half-demolished ballroom brought a small measure of satisfaction. Chloé may have left her mostly alone since beginning lycée, but the years of torment before still stung.

She paused for a moment on a rooftop across the street to take stock of the situation. Civilians were mostly out of the way by now and the Akuma was in its monologue phase, yelling something about a pet tarantula and animal cruelty. Ladybug didn’t really care. Parts of the venue were visible through the hole in the wall and it seemed like there had been a party going on before the uninvited multi-legged guest had arrived. She caught sight of a couple, barely visible in front of the Akuma among the rubble of the now-demolished wall. They seemed to be struggling with something. Ladybug threw out her yo-yo and swung down.

“Hey, asshole!” she yelled, her outstretched foot connecting with the Akuma’s head. The woman — or former woman — screamed in rage, more dazed than hurt, and lunged for Ladybug, who zipped away, drawing her attention from the couple still trapped below. She led the ranting Akuma away from the ballroom, down the street where there were fewer people, and doubled back as the woman followed her. She had a few seconds before the spider-thing caught up with her, but it was important to make sure everyone got out safely before she engaged it any further. She was pretty sure the healing stream didn’t have any distance limits, but she and Chat had agreed early on that it was best to contain damage to the city as much as possible, if only to limit the number of people affected.

She landed lightly among the rubble and ran towards the couple, who were still on the ground close to the damage. The boy was helping the girl to her feet, but she was limping. “Are you guys alright?” called Ladybug, but stopped in her tracks as they turned to face her. The girl was Chloé. And supporting her weight with his arm around her waist, was…

“She got hit by some falling debris,” said Adrien worriedly, and Ladybug swallowed hard. He was in black and green, and his hair was in disarray. He looked too good to be allowed. “We tried to get away when the wall fell down but the Akuma was yelling and knocking things over… I think she broke her ankle.”

“I hate spiders,” moaned Chloé faintly. Her face was pale under her makeup.

Ladybug swallowed her anxiety and turned to Adrien. “Are you hurt?” she asked, and hoped her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

“Me? No, I’m fine. But she can’t move very fast. Is the Akuma coming back?”

“Then get to safety,” Ladybug ordered, ignoring his question. She looped Chloé’s arm around her neck and scooped her up, perhaps a little more forcefully than was necessary. With her enhanced strength she felt barely heavier than a sack of flour. “I’ll take her from here.”

Adrien looked taken aback. “But–”

“She’ll be fine, but you need to get out of here,” said Ladybug firmly, trying and failing not to look at the dust in his eyelashes and noticing how much greener his eyes looked in contrast. “Go somewhere safe.” He hesitated. “Go,” she insisted. “I can take you to her afterwards if it makes you feel any better.” She immediately regretted the words the second they left her mouth but Adrien looked relieved.

“Alright,” he conceded, and ran.

Chloé groaned in Ladybug’s arms and she swallowed a snort of disgust. She sprinted across the ballroom and out the revolving doors to the street on the other side, where paramedics hovered a block away from the hotel, wanting to offer assistance but nervous to get too close to the Akuma’s destruction. Adrien was nowhere to be seen. She deposited Chloé unceremoniously in a gurney hurriedly set up by a nurse behind one of the ambulances and turned back towards the hotel.

A part of her was worried about Adrien and she fought the instinct to go look for him. Another part of her was miffed at the reaction her arrival had gotten. Selfish as it may be, she halfway expected him to become starry-eyed and blushing when she graced him with her presence. The sight of Chloé in his arms had hurt in more ways than one. Sure, she had broken her ankle and he happened to be nearby. But his reluctance to let Ladybug — Ladybug! — take over and his relief when she offered to take him to see Chloé afterwards, coupled with his business-like attitude towards the supposed girl of his dreams left her wondering, not for the first time, if he had lied during the disastrous Confession Day.

As she swung up to the hotel roof she let her mind wander back into unwanted territory. Ladybug was a convenient excuse to reject anyone — Adrien was well-known as metaphorical chairman of Alya’s Ladybug fanclub and every heterosexual boy over the age of 12 had crushes of varying degrees on the spotted superheroine of Paris. But as far as excuses went it was a poor one. Any idiot who rejected a real live girl in favor of an unattainable celebrity was either a crazy stalker or lying.

He’d been very quick to dismiss Chloé as the object of his affections, and she had always wondered at their friendship. In collège he had often played Devil’s advocate in situations where the whole class had been against her, insisting she was a good person. She was always all over him any chance she got. As much as Ladybug hated to admit it, there was a bond between the two that was undeniable, lasting long before collège and clearly still strong. And there was no denying Chloé was beautiful. As loathsome as her personality was, she had won the genetic lottery and she knew it.

Chloé and Adrien, visually anyway, were the ultimate power couple.

A scream broke Ladybug out of her thoughts and she swore under her breath. Allowing herself to be distracted from the Akuma had made her careless, and in the time she had been sitting on the roof a woman had jumped out of her car at the sight of the spider monstrosity, and was now trapped between a large chunk of wall and one of the Akuma’s legs. The Akuma — whose name Ladybug had yet to pay attention to — had apparently decided to take the woman hostage, screaming for Ladybug’s Miraculous. “Where are you, Chat?” muttered Ladybug. It wasn’t like her partner to take so long to arrive.

As if on cue a shadow dropped down beside her. “Penny for your thoughts, my Lady?” he quipped, and Ladybug almost jumped in surprise.

“Where have you been?” she hissed.

“I got a little caught up in something on the way,” Chat answered apologetically. “A friend in need and all that.”

“Well I hope it was worth it, because we have a hostage situation,” said Ladybug, looking down on the Akuma below. It had begun constructing a web across the street and the unfortunate civilian had been encased in spider silk, suspended from a street lamp.

“How the heck did that happen?”

Ladybug frowned in frustration. “I got careless,” she admitted. “I’ve been out as Ladybug since… well, for a while, and I was thinking about some other stuff. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Chat patted her arm sympathetically. “It happens,” he assured her.

That wasn’t the reaction she was expecting. She turned to look at him. “But I screwed up,” she said, almost surprised. “Aren’t you mad?”

He shrugged. “I screw up all the time and you don’t hate _me_ ,” he pointed out. “We’ll fix this. We can talk about whatever happened later if you want but right now,” he paused and glanced down at the Akuma, who screamed, “I think she just noticed us.”

With Chat at her side the Akuma was dispatched without further incident, the captive safely returned to the paramedics by Ladybug while Chat Noir distracted the spider, and the Lucky Charm — a giant pair of scissors — thrown to the sky and erasing the damage to the hotel. After the obligatory fist-bump for the cameras they whisked away into the sky and from the roof Ladybug even caught sight of Chloé on her feet shooing away concerned nurses trying to usher her back on the gurney; clearly her ankle was fine now too.

A few blocks away they paused their escape, landing on a stretch of roof dominated by a large brick chimney. Ladybug stretched. “Sorry about earlier,” she said. “I wish we could stay and talk but our transformations are going to drop soon and, well…” Chat didn’t answer. “Chat?”

She turned around. Chat was leaning against the chimney, breathing heavily, his complexion colorless and eyes half-closed. “Chat!” she exclaimed in alarm, sprinting the few steps between them and supporting his weight as best she could. “Chat, are you okay?” His legs were shaking.

“Shouldn’t have had that champagne,” he muttered vaguely, and collapsed.

The sudden dead weight almost dragged Ladybug to the ground and she staggered, lowering herself to her knees as best she could while trying to spare Chat from dragging along the bricks or knocking his head against the wall. She gingerly laid him out on the ground with his head in her lap and checked his pulse. It was fast, but steady.

Panicked, she checked him for injuries, but apart from a small scrape on his cheek he seemed fine. She tried smacking his face and calling his name, but he didn’t react. He was out cold.

Desperately she thought back to the fight. From what she could remember, he hadn’t really gotten hurt — the Akuma had gotten a few jabs in, like they always did, but there had been worse fights and he had always been fine. Although this one was especially vicious, and he had gotten thrown against a wall at one point… “Oh God,” she said aloud, a horrifying thought occurring. What if he had internal bleeding?

She had taken her fair share of first-aid courses over the years but had never paid much attention. She cursed that inattentiveness now as she tried in vain to remember the signs. _‘Keep them warm, don’t move them around too much, don’t give them anything to drink…’_ Good information if that was what was wrong, but how could she _tell_? She couldn’t take him to a hospital, not without compromising his identity, but she might have to if she didn’t think of something fast.

An epiphany came in the form of a half-remembered episode of a hospital drama her mother watched religiously. In the episode, one of the ridiculously attractive doctors had felt around on the car-crash victim’s abdomen and howled about internal bleeding. As absurd as taking medical advice from a _Days of Our Lives_ knock-off was, she was out of ideas and gingerly touched her unconscious partner’s stomach. She wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for, but she felt like if his organs were leaking where they shouldn’t, it would feel squishy and _wrong_ , somehow.

This definitely felt “wrong” but not like _that_. This felt voyeuristic, like she was molesting him instead of making sure he wasn’t dying. She gently pressed down on his stomach and even though his body was completely relaxed, she could feel the hardness of muscle beneath her fingers. Ladybug was suddenly very aware exactly how skin-tight his leather costume was. She could probably count his abs if she cared to try. She couldn’t believe how she hadn’t noticed before, but somewhere along the way he had grown up when she hadn’t been paying attention. His skinny frame had hardened into lean muscle, and his limbs were less like sticks and more like those of an athlete; which, she realized, he technically was.

He didn’t seem to be hurt on the inside, so she turned her attention back to his face. His eyes were closed and his mask covered most of his cheekbones and part of his forehead, but when she looked closely he looked… haggard. Not starving or sick but just _unhealthy_ , like he hadn’t slept in years. His cheeks were covered in stubble and it was hard to tell under the mask, but his eyes seemed sunken a little. She wondered how long he’d been going on like this. How could she have been so oblivious? She cursed her own egotism. While she was blinded by some boy not liking her back, the partner she trusted with her life had been suffering right next to her and she hadn’t even noticed.

When she thought back, it was glaringly obvious of course; the split-second lag in response time, the gradual sparseness of his usual quips and the occasional bouts of shaky breath-catching before they parted ways after an attack. But she’d had her head so far up her own ass that she hadn’t taken the time to check on him, and he hadn’t even complained. Not once. Instead, he comforted her while she cried about a boy, and spent every night chasing her across the skyline to distract her from her problems. Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes. No wonder he had collapsed. He must have been exhausted.

 _Beep._ She jerked back to reality in alarm. His ring was flashing. Three minutes left before they were both maskless and powerless, stranded on a rooftop in the middle of downtown Paris. Panic rose again. She couldn’t just leave him. But she wasn’t ready to reveal her identity, not like this. And what about Chat? No matter how often he used to hint about them “getting to know each other better,” she couldn’t imagine him wanting to have that choice ripped away from him, unconscious and unknowing. She hovered back and forth over the impossible decision, debating internally for a good twenty seconds before she cradled his head in her hands and set him down, gently as she could, on the ground.

“Shit,” she whispered to herself, and bolted.

She was back at the hotel in less than a minute, sweeping in the back entrance to the kitchens and raiding the countertops for any food she could grab, yelling at the startled kitchen staff to get her blankets and she wanted them _yesterday_ , goddammit. None of them felt the need to question the woman who had saved them all not five minutes ago, not with _that_ tone of voice. A stack of extra blankets was produced from a nearby storage closet in record time and she bundled the food inside, back on the roof where she had left her partner with only a minute to spare.

He hadn’t moved, still breathing steadily, and she hastily freed one of the blankets and tossed it over him as she settled his head back in her lap, his face turned so that his breathing would be unobscured by his shroud. Her pulse thudded uncomfortably at the idea that he would be so close with only a flimsy blanket between them, but she couldn’t risk him sitting up detransformed and them seeing each other without their masks. She had to keep him down.

A flash of green light flooded out from under the blanket almost as soon as she had settled with her back against the bricks and a tiny, newly formed lump grumbled on Chat’s covered chest.

“You overdid it, kid,” said the lump, and a whiskered black thing with glowing green eyes phased through the material and floated into Ladybug’s line of sight.

She should have known Chat Noir’s kwami wouldn’t look exactly like Tikki, but the reality of his appearance still startled her. He even had a tail.

“Hey, anybody ever tell you that staring is rude?” he snapped.

“I — uh…” Ladybug stammered, just as her own transformation dropped. Suddenly she was Marinette again, and the sudden vulnerability made her feel naked.

Tikki whooshed over to the black kwami. “Oh, hush, Plagg,” she admonished, but she hugged him, her tiny arms barely reaching around his body. “It’s her first time seeing another kwami, be nice.”

“Who can think of niceties at a time like this?” sniffed Plagg, enduring Tikki’s hug with apparent reluctance. “My chosen is practically dying and I haven’t eaten in _hours_.”

Marinette looked down at the obscured form in her lap in alarm. “He’s not _really_ dying, is he?” she asked desperately.

“Don’t worry, Marinette, that’s just Plagg being dramatic,” Tikki assured her. “Isn’t that right, Plagg?”

“With the way he’s been carrying on he may as well be,” said Plagg in an annoyed tone. “I can’t imagine what’s keeping him going. He’s running on fumes.”

Marinette tentatively touched her partner’s face over the blanket. “Why hasn’t he said anything?” she asked herself softly. “Why didn’t he _tell_ me?”

“Didn’t want to worry you, I guess,” said Plagg dismissively. He had discovered the food she had brought up and was rooting through it. “I have no idea why he does half the things he does. I’ve tried to get him to take a night off, get some sleep, but he won’t hear of it. Absolutely refuses to stand up those silly ‘patrols’ you do. Although what you’re supposed to be patrolling _for_ I have no idea.” He tossed aside an apple and wailed. “Why didn’t you bring any cheese?” he moaned.

“I… I didn’t know you would want any,” stuttered Marinette. “I can go find some, if you need…” But she looked down at Chat’s motionless form and trailed off.

“Don’t be silly,” scolded Tikki. “He’ll be fine. We both will. Right, Plagg?” she added pointedly, biting into a strawberry nearly as large as her head.

Plagg let out a long-suffering sigh. “I _suppose_ ,” he grimaced, and dug into a scone that dwarfed him by several centimeters.

The sounds of kwami munching dominated the air around them for a moment until Marinette finally broke the silence. “How long has this been going on?” she asked quietly.

Plagg shrugged. “A few months.”

“A few _months_?” she echoed, the guilt returning to her in waves. “He’s been giving up sleep for patrols for _months_?”

“He says it keeps him going,” said Plagg nonchalantly. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

Marinette was floored. It was one thing that he apparently considered his duties as Chat Noir more important than sleep — she was well-acquainted with the feeling over the last few months. But patrol was hardly a _duty_ , and the implications that Plagg had just raised were… interesting. He never talked about his civilian life, but clearly that would have to change. He was running from something, and if patrolling with her cut into his sleep schedule he must have a lot of other things going on. And then there was Plagg’s comments on Chat’s apparent attitude towards patrols.

_‘He says it keeps him going…’_

For one wild moment she had a thought. A crazy, ridiculous thought. What if he was doing this because of _her_? All his flirting and cheesy one-liners had always seemed superficial to her; it had been a part of their banter since the start. But something nagged at her, and she thought about last night on the roof, the night she called him her best friend. There had been that moment where the air between them had shifted, and then again when he pulled her close.

 _‘In your dreams,’_ she had teased.

 _‘Every night,’_ he’d replied.

She shook her head forcefully, trying to physically rid her mind of this absurd train of thought. Hadn’t he preceded that by detailing a different girl, one he had apparently loved for years? His closest friend? _‘Present company excluded, of course,’_ he had said, but there was that moment of hesitation, the comment tacked on as an afterthought. No, he couldn’t have… Not to her face…

A groan and sudden movement from her lap brought her back to reality with a snap and she started, pressing down on her partner’s shoulders as he tried to sit up. “Shh,” she soothed, pulling the blanket back up over the top of his head, which had become exposed when he shifted. The sight of blond hair without the cat ears made her heart thump hard in her chest and the feeling of nakedness without her mask was back in force. “Don’t move.”

“I… Ladybug?” He groaned again and the blanket shifted, his arm moving up to his face. The movement exposed his feet, and Marinette caught a glimpse of a dusty black dress shoe. Her eyes snapped up to stare at the sky and she swallowed. “What happened? What is this?”

“You passed out,” she said, willing her voice to be even and calm despite how, internally, she was screaming. “Our transformations were going out but I couldn’t… I didn’t want to just leave you here, so I ran back to the hotel and got some blankets and food for our kwamis.”

He groaned again but didn’t try to move. “How long was I out?”

She checked her watch and had to do a double take. “O-only about five minutes,” she said, and cursed silently when her voice cracked.

“Five — so we’re detransformed now?” he said. His voice was softer without the transformation. More measured. Mature, even.

She laughed nervously. “Hence the blanket.”

He was silent for a moment. She dared to glance down at him and his head was facing her, the edge of the blanket a bare centimeter above her thigh, moving very slightly each time he exhaled. She was suddenly very aware of his warmth, and the gravity of the situation, that they were only one cotton slip-up from the most life-changing reveal of their lives, hung between them, unsaid.

He cleared his throat. “So, I guess you’ve met Plagg,” he said finally, and his voice was a little hoarse.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” she said hurriedly. “He’s very, um…”

“She didn’t bring any cheese,” complained Plagg loudly.

“You’ll survive, you big baby,” Chat countered, and the kwami made a noise of disgust.

“He says you haven’t been sleeping,” said Marinette accusingly, and Chat groaned.

“He did, did he?”

“He said you’ve been going on patrols instead,” she continued. “For _months_. Months, Chat!”

Chat’s voice took on a strange tone. “He did, did he.” It wasn’t a question anymore.

“You leave me out of this,” said Plagg.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Chat?” Marinette demanded. “Patrols aren’t more important than your health, you should have _told_ me.”

“I… didn’t want to worry you,” he said softly. “Honestly, it’s not a big deal.”

“ _Not a big deal?_ ” she half-shrieked. “Chat, I thought you were _dying_. I tried to check for _internal bleeding_. I almost took you to the hospital!”

“Internal bleeding, huh? What, you felt me up? Did you like what you saw?” He was clearly trying to lighten the mood, but even his tone of voice was unconvinced.

“Chat, you really scared me.” She tried to scold him but it came out pleading instead. “You collapsed right on top of me. I was terrified you would stop breathing while I was gone, I didn’t know what to do!” Her voice cracked again and her vision was blurring as the anxiety when he had collapsed returned with the memory. “You were shaking and wheezing and I didn’t — I couldn’t…” She trembled and tried to slow her own breathing, which was now bordering on hyperventilation.

He shifted again, taking care to move the blanket with him as he turned so his whole body was facing her now. She stiffened as a hand reached out and groped blindly, but he found her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “I’m sorry, Ladybug,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She almost cried then. She laced their fingers together and it was so strange, feeling his bare skin against hers, but it also felt _right_ , somehow. His fingers were long and his palm was soft, barely a hint of the callouses she had expected from their years of fighting Hawkmoth’s minions. She had been crying too much the past few months, but right now she wanted nothing more than to throw the blanket away and bury her face in his chest, and sob all the anxiety and relief away. She stroked his hair instead, running her fingers through the tousled blond locks under the blanket. His breath hitched at the contact but he didn’t pull away.

They stayed like that for a while, until Chat cleared his throat. “You know, this would be easier without the whole death-shroud thing going on,” he ventured. “Plus, it’s getting kind of hot under here.”

For the briefest of moments, Marinette almost considered it. Every argument Chat had ever thrown at her in favor of doing just that ran through her mind at breakneck speed. And hadn’t she wanted to throw off the blanket herself, only minutes ago? The hand that had been stroking his hair hesitated. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? So quick, like ripping off a band-aid.

But then her anxiety returned. She was so vulnerable right now, and it just didn’t feel right to relegate such an important moment to a whim. She shook her head, then remembered he couldn’t see. “I don’t—” she began, but Plagg interrupted her.

“Well, I _suppose_ I have enough strength to get you home,” he drawled, in a tone that suggested he was performing a great service instead of what was essentially his job. “But I expect lots of Camembert when we get back.”

“I’m ready too,” added Tikki, with a disapproving look at Plagg which he pointedly ignored.

“Oh,” said Chat, and Marinette couldn’t decide if that was disappointment in his voice or not. “Should I just transform under the blanket or something?”

“That would probably be best,” said Marinette gently. “Tikki, spots on.”

The familiar pink light engulfed her as she heard Chat murmur whatever his code phrase was, and his green light flashed under his cover. When it had faded she tentatively lifted the edge that fluttered above her thigh and there he was, his catlike eyes meeting hers with that unidentifiable expression from last night.

Her heart thudded in her chest and her mouth was suddenly dry. Time seemed to stand still, and she was suddenly very aware how much older he looked. She didn’t know _how_ old he was, and she probably should have picked that fact up at some point, but he had grown up when she wasn’t looking and now in the moonlight she could see where his baby fat had melted from his face, revealing high cheekbones and a strong jaw dusted with stubble. She remembered the feel of his muscles and swallowed.

He broke eye contact first and sat up, running a clawed hand through his hair. She followed the movement with her eyes, unwillingly but also unable to look away. She knew what his hands felt like now, and that simple fact twisted her stomach into knots without fully understanding why. “I guess I should probably get back,” he said in a strange voice. “I was kind of… in the middle of something before this. People will be looking for me.”

She nodded vaguely even though he wasn’t looking at her, unable to find her voice. He stood up and held out a hand to help her up, the hand that had only moments before been entwined in hers. Ladybug hesitated only the briefest of moments before taking it, and once on her feet found herself unwilling to let go.

They stood in silence, holding hands, for what seemed like eternity and only a second at the same time. Then Chat cleared his throat. “I have to go back that way,” he said, jerking a thumb in the direction of the hotel. “Will you be okay?”

“Me?” Ladybug let out a strangled laugh. “You’re the one who passed out.”

He chuckled. “I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just need to get some sleep and I’ll be right as rain.”

“Sleep! Yes! Get lots of sleep,” she ordered, feeling a little more like herself again. “And no more patrols for you for the next _week_ , mister, you hear me?”

“Hey,” he protested, but Ladybug prodded his chest sternly.

“I mean it,” she insisted. “You’re going to catch up on some of that sleep you’ve been missing, and _then_ we can talk about this, okay? I will _not_ have my partner collapsing on me again. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Alright, alright,” he relented, free arm raised in surrender. “One week.”

“Promise?” she prompted.

“Fine, yes, I promise.”

“Good.” She softened. “I need you at your best.” She could have stopped at _‘I need you.’_ She almost did.

“Of course, my Lady.” He smiled.

“And no more champagne,” she added, and he stiffened.

“Champagne?” he asked warily.

“You were talking about champagne when you collapsed,” she explained. The air had shifted again, but this time it made her feel like she’d said something wrong. “Something about that you shouldn’t have had that glass of champagne. And then you fell on me and I thought you died.”

He relaxed a little but something about his body language that suggested she’d gone somewhere she shouldn’t have. “Ah,” he said casually, “yeah, that was probably what did it. Lay off the alcohol, got it.” He grinned again and swung their hands, which were still joined. “But if I’m gonna leave I’m going to need both of my arms,” he joked. “As much as I’d like to stay, I really do need to get back or next thing we know this pretty face is going to be the subject of a city-wide manhunt.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she stammered and released his hand.

He unhooked his baton from his belt and turned to leave, but she called after him. “Wait!” He stopped and looked back at her, and she forgot what she wanted to say. Instead, impulsively, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. He seemed surprised at first, but after a moment his arms found her waist and hugged her back, pulling her close. She breathed in his scent, cologne and sweat and something else, whatever was purely _him._ “Take care of yourself, Chat,” she said, muffled against his chest.

“I will,” he promised, and she reluctantly let him go. For a split second her eyes fell to his lips. They weren’t hugging anymore but they were still close and his arm was still around her waist. It would be such a simple thing to just…

She stepped back and the urge passed. He smiled at her and gave a little salute, before dropping over the side of the building and disappeared. She stood there, watching his vaulting figure recede into the distance, alone with her thoughts. She refused to think about whatever the hell had just happened between them – that was freak-out material for another day.

Instead, she couldn’t shake his reaction about the champagne. Lots of people drank champagne, and he looked nearly eighteen at least anyway. It wasn’t like she’d said anything wrong, had she?

But an image formed in her mind, of a dust-covered dress shoe she had tried so hard to ignore, and his comments about there being a manhunt if he didn’t show up wherever he was supposed to be. On their own, they didn’t reveal much. Hardly anything to freak out over. She and Chat had both been covered in dust during the fight with the Akuma. But he’d been detransformed. So why was his shoe covered in the stuff? Unless…

She nearly gasped in spite of herself, staring blankly in the direction her partner had vanished. Back towards the hotel.

_‘Chat was at the party.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so self-indulgent I want to throw up.
> 
> I tried to cut this up into two chapters, but it didn't feel right. It was also supposed to be about 2,000 words shorter, but if y'all are anything like me, I doubt anybody is complaining.
> 
> Also, thanks for the positive feedback on Chloé in the last chapter! I've always struggled with keeping fanfiction in-character and I almost feel like the timeskips in this fic have been a little bit like cheating, but if you guys like it I'm just gonna take that and run with it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alya's Mom Friend™ powers are tested, Nino continues to be the best, and Marinette says something stupid.

There was something different about Marinette.

Alya couldn’t put her finger on it, but something had changed in her best friend overnight and she wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing. She seemed more spaced-out than usual. She hadn’t even greeted Alya that morning, barely even seeming to register she was there at all. At first Alya thought Marinette was mad at her — after her outburst yesterday, justified or no, she wouldn’t have been surprised — but as the day went on her theory held less water, evidenced by the fact that at lunch she nearly walked into six different people in the hallway and completely breezed past Nino, who had to say hello twice before she jerked out of whatever trance she was in.

“Oh, hey,” she responded absent-mindedly, before murmuring some vague excuse about promising to be home for lunch and wandering off.

Nino stared after her. “What,” he said, “the _hell_ was that?”

“She’s been like that all day,” said Alya exasperatedly. “I thought she was pissed about yesterday in the library, but…” She shook her head. “I don’t know, something’s _off_.”

“Oh, right, the Adrien thing. Has she talked to you about that?”

Alya spun around. “What ‘Adrien thing’?” she demanded.

“Yesterday, in the library,” said Nino, nonplussed. “Adrien went and found her in the library. Didn’t she tell you?”

“I haven’t talked to her since _I_ saw her in the library!” Alya grabbed his arm and dragged him into an empty classroom. “It must have happened right afterwards, tell me _everything_.”

“Okay, geeze, there’s nothing to tell.” Nino freed his arm from her grip and rubbed the skin gingerly. “After she vanished you went off to look for her, right?

“Yes, and she was impossible to find, go on.”

“Adrien and I went out to lunch, and he was super confused about why _you_ were mad. So I told him about the situation. Like stuff from collège and things I’ve picked up and whatever, and he had no idea.”

Alya blinked. “ _No_ idea? Seriously?”

“That’s what I said! So I’m like ‘dude, it’s fine, it’s over now,’ right? But he was really shaken up about it and went to find her as soon as we got back. And then when he got back to class we couldn’t exactly have a full-blown discussion about it or anything, but he said he found her in the library and she was crying—”

“ _Crying_?” Alya grabbed his arm again. “Quick, was that before or after he got there?”

“Ow, lay _off_ , will ya? After, okay, I’m getting there!”

“Ooh, I’m gonna kill him,” she muttered, without any real conviction.

“So he goes in, tells her he’s sorry, and how he still wants to be her friend, and suddenly she’s sobbing about how he shouldn’t apologize.”

Alya waited. “And?” she prompted.

“‘And’ nothing,” Nino shrugged. “He left.”

“And that’s _it_?”

“That’s it,” he confirmed. “He seemed to think it had gone well, anyway. You should have seen his face, he looked so relieved.”

Alya leaned back on her heels, considering this. Marinette had been incredibly emotional the past few months, so once she thought about it, the crying didn’t really mean much. And Adrien, despite apparently being dense enough to not realize how head over heels Marinette had been for him well over three years running, wasn’t stupid. If he thought it had gone well, taking into account the shitstorm since that afternoon at the café, it probably had. But even so…

“She didn’t show up for class afterwards,” she said. “I looked for her for almost an hour at lunch and when I finally found her, I was so fed up that I told her exactly how shitty I thought she was being, and then I left. I hadn’t even heard from her until this morning, and I thought she was just mad at me, but it’s like she didn’t even notice I was there.”

Nino shifted his weight uncomfortably from leg to leg. “Maybe her talk with Adrien didn’t go as well as he thought,” he suggested.

Alya kicked a desk in frustration. “This. Is. So. Stupid!” she muttered through gritted teeth, punctuating each word with a fresh _bang_ as her boot hit the metal leg of the table.

“Woah, chill out, Al,” said Nino, grabbing her shoulders. “Anybody comes by, we’ll get detention for sure.”

“I don't  _care_!” said Alya furiously. “I am so _sick_ of — of whatever this is! Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am! But what else can we do? Adrien is trying his best to just survive this whole thing, Marinette isn’t talking to _anybody_ , and what the hell can _I_ do about any of this?” He leaned back onto the desk Alya had been abusing and readjusted his hat in frustration. “I can sit and listen to Adrien’s side of the story, but what good does that do when he’s never around? I can’t talk to Marinette, I can’t, I don’t know, _step in_ somehow. I’m pretty much more useless than _you_ at this point.”

Alya bristled. “Hey, at least I’m _trying_!”

“Yeah? And what good has that done? Marinette’s still stuck in her own handmade bubble of masochism, Adrien’s still drowning, and we’re stuck yelling at each other in the science lab!”

Alya deflated, propping herself on the table next to Nino. “You ever get the feeling you’re stuck in an impossible situation?”

He let out a humorless bark of laughter. “All the damn time.”

“It’s like…” She picked at her nails, searching for the right words. “Marinette has been my best friend for _years_ , y’know? I’ve always supported her through everything. _We’ve_ always supported _each other_. And all I want is for her to be happy. But it’s like she’s completely shut me out. When we hang out at school it’s fine, but it’s like she’s cutting me out of every other part of her life.” She ran her fingers through her hair and fiddled with a wayward curl. “Whenever I suggest we do something outside of school, there’s always an excuse. So I eventually just stopped asking, and I don’t even think she’s noticed.”

He took her hand, gently freeing it from the tangle she’d been creating and rubbed a soothing circle on her palm with his thumb. “I know,” he said softly.

“And I hate having to pretend Adrien’s _dead_ , or something,” she continued vehemently. “He’s _my_ friend too, am I just supposed to pretend he doesn’t exist for the rest of my life? He’s barely at school as it is, but when he _does_ show up I have to babysit Mari instead of being there for a guy who really needs, well, _anyone_. But it’s not like I can just _abandon_ her either, so…”

Nino groaned. “Oh my God, don’t even get me started on that.”

She glanced  at him. “How is he, by the way?”

He shrugged. “He was actually at school today, for once, so that’s good. Came in early and everything. He had to use his lunch break for some stupid interview though, so he’s not here right now, but he promised he’d be back.”

Alya smiled. “That’s great!” she said. The smile faltered a little. “Wish I could have seen him, though.”

“He seems to be doing okay, at least,” Nino offered. “He said his schedule opened up a little, so he can catch up on some sleep. Wish we could hang out with him, but at least he probably won’t die this week.”

“Thank God for small favors.”

They were silent for a while, the echoes of chattering in the hallway outside fading as their fellow students headed off to whatever lunch plans they had made. Alya’s stomach rumbled vaguely but she ignored it. It was nice to just sit in silence for once, sharing the impossible weight on her shoulders with someone who _understood_. Someone who wouldn’t judge her for all her doubts about the best friend she’d ever had.

“D’you think…” she began, and then stopped.

“Hmm?”

“Did I do this?” she asked quietly. “Is this my fault?” She hated herself for asking, but at the same time, she’d been worrying for so long… It kept her up at night, and it shouldn’t have, but she couldn’t help but wonder.

“What do you mean?”

“I just…” She hesitated. “I worked Mari up about this for so long, and kept pushing her to go for it, and then she _did_ and it went so sideways… Maybe — what if that’s why she’s avoiding me?” The room was getting blurry and her voice threatened to crack at any moment. “Maybe she resents me. For encouraging her.”

“Hey, no. Absolutely not.” Nino tapped her chin and she met his eyes, her own brimming with tears. “This is _not_ your fault. I’m not a mind-reader, but even if Marinette _somehow_ blamed you for an unrequited crush, that’s on _her_. That’s _her_ being immature and a crappy friend, not _you_. Adrien didn’t like her back, and that’s it. It has nothing to do with you.” He gently wiped a rogue tear that had spilled down her cheek with his thumb. “ _I_ encouraged her too, y’know. Wingmanning from the shadows. Does that make it _my_ fault?”

Alya managed a watery smile. “No.”

“Exactly. So stop thinking like that, because that doesn’t help anyone.” He pulled her in for a hug and she leaned into his chest, inhaling the sharp scent of coffee and his father’s cigarettes. “You’re an amazing friend, and don’t you _ever_ think otherwise.”

She sniffled lightly. “Thanks, Nino,” she said, muffled against his sweatshirt.

“Now, what do you wanna do for lunch?” he asked, squeezing her shoulders as he released her. “I’m craving some chow mein, but I wouldn’t say no to a hot dog either.”

“Hot dogs sound great,” she agreed, wiping her eyes. She laughed wetly. “God, I’m _starving._ ”

Nino looped an arm around her neck. “Existential crises will do that to a girl, or so I’ve heard.”

They got back to school with half an hour to spare, and Nino spotted Adrien walking up the steps as they rounded the corner. He brightened instantly. “There’s my main man!” he crowed, quickening his pace. Adrien turned at the sound and broke into a huge grin.

“Hey, guys,” he said as they came closer. “Good lunch?”

“Would have been better if you showed up,” said Alya brightly. “Being stuck with _this_ loser all day? Literally the worst. How's my sunshine child doing?” She reached up to ruffle his hair and he batted her hand away with a good-natured chuckle.

“I'm fine. Marinette not around?” He tried to sound casual, but she detected a hint of nervousness in his tone.

“Nah, she went home for lunch,” said Nino.

Something moved in the corner of her eye and Alya glanced over to see none other than Marinette herself hovering on the other side of the street. She was clearly on her way back from lunch and was hesitating on the curb, apparently unable to make up her mind as to whether or not she should come over, or wait until Adrien was gone. “Speak of the devil,” she said softly, and raised an arm in greeting. Marinette waved hesitantly back.

“Aren’t you going over to her?” Adrien asked carefully.

Alya shook her head. “I’m done enabling her,” she said, unable to suppress a hint of regret from seeping into her voice. “I’m talking to _you_ , and if she doesn’t like it, she can just deal.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Adrien, stop,” she interrupted firmly. “You’re my friend too. I’m not going to abandon you because Marinette decided that running away is better than dealing with this like an adult. I’m not going to stop being her friend, but I’m not going to let her dictate who I spend my time with. I’m putting my foot down.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it again, and then shoved his hands into his pockets. “Thanks?” he said uncertainly.

Nino patted her arm.

“Nino said everything was good between you two anyway, right?” she continued. “You talked yesterday?”

“I think so,” said Adrien, and glanced at Marinette, still hovering on the sidewalk. “I mean, I _guess_. She was crying a lot, but she said I didn’t have anything to apologize for and that she was just being stupid, so…”

“Good,” said Alya decisively. “Then it’s up to her to figure out if she actually meant it.”

To everyone’s great surprise, Marinette made her way towards them. She walked slowly, seeming to fight herself every step of the way, but it was happening. Adrien straightened up, apparently unaware of it. His eyes never left her, and he seemed to be holding his breath. Nino squeezed Alya’s hand.

Marinette paused once she crossed the curb, hovering a few steps away from Nino, but closer to Adrien than Alya had seen her — willingly — in months. It was mind-blowing. She almost wanted to take a picture for posterity.

“H-hey, Marinette,” said Adrien. He was clearly nervous. Marinette didn’t answer, or meet his eyes, but offered a tiny smile of acknowledgement in his direction. Alya wanted to sing. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

“Did you bring back any macarons?” asked Nino brightly. “Those raspberry ones your dad makes are the _bomb_.”

Marinette smiled and shook her head. “Sorry, there weren’t any left over. Hey, Alya, c-could I talk to you for a sec?”

Alya met Nino’s eyes and they shared a brief look. “Sure,” she shrugged resignedly, and followed Marinette into the courtyard of the school. She glanced over her shoulder at the boys as she walked up the steps. Adrien was watching them go with a dejected look on his face. Her heart twisted.

“So… um, weird question,” said Marinette, when they had found a remote corner of the schoolyard. “Do you… I mean, I know the Ladyblog has forums, right?”

“Yeah,” said Alya, perplexed. “Why?”

“Well, I was looking through them at lunch, and I noticed that they’re all mostly about… well, Ladybug.”

Alya blinked. “Well, _yeah_. It’s the _Lady_ -blog. The title kind of gives it away, don’t you think?”

“No, I know, I just…” Marinette hesitated. “Even most of the theorizing is about Ladybug, you know, like identities and stuff, and I was just wondering why there isn’t much about Chat Noir.”

Alya pursed her lips. “There’s plenty of theorizing about Chat Noir,” she said. “It’s just most of the traffic on the Ladyblog is, y’know, from fans of Ladybug. There are other blogs that do what I do — not quite as well, of course, but they’re out there. Some of them focus on Chat Noir, some are a more even mix, but Ladybug’s the main focus. He’s mostly her sidekick anyway, isn’t he?”

“No he’s not!” said Marinette immediately. “They’re partners!”

“…Okay?” Alya was completely thrown off by this random line of questioning, and her friend’s immediate defense of _Chat Noir_ , of all people. “Sorry.”

“I just mean…” Marinette paused, apparently composing herself. “I was just wondering if you knew of any theories about him, that’s all.”

“What, like identity theories?” Marinette nodded. “Uh, I guess. There are a few older message boards on the Ladyblog I could dig up for you, if you really want.”

“Could you?” Marinette brightened instantly. “That would be great!”

“Why the sudden interest, anyway?” asked Alya, a growing suspicion nagging at the back of her mind. “I thought you said that theorizing about their identities was silly, or a waste of time, or dangerous for them or whatever.”

“Oh, uh, no reason,” said Marinette, a little too quickly to be believable. “I was just thinking about it at lunch, and—”

“Oh my God," Alya gasped, "do you have a _crush_ on Chat Noir?”

Marinette waved her arms in a panicked “No” gesture. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous, I just–”

Alya cackled. “Holy shit, you _so_ do! It’s written all over your face! What, _this_ is how you’re getting over Adrien? By mooning over another famous blond guy with green eyes? Oh my God, you _so_ have a type.”

“It’s not like that!” Marinette protested. “I just heard something and wanted to see if anybody else had come up with stuff to fit the theory, okay? Geeze, forget I asked!”

Alya wiped a tear of amusement from the corner of her eye. “Really?” she deadpanned. “What did you hear?”

“That Chat Noir was at the party at Le Grande Paris last night,” blurted Marinette, and immediately snapped her mouth shut.

That sobered Alya up quicker than if Marinette had thrown a glass of cold water in her face. “Holy shit, Marinette,” she whispered harshly. “Holy shit, that’s _huge_. Where the hell did you hear that?”

“I-I don’t know, around?” said Marinette evasively. “The internet? I-it’s probably not even a good tip, probably some idiot saw Adrien’s outfit on the red carpet and thought…”

“Woah, woah, _woah_ , slow down.” Alya threw up her hands as if she could physically halt the conversation. “You think _Adrien_ is _Chat Noir_?”

“No, of _course_ not, don’t be ridiculous.” Marinette snorted derisively, all previous signs of anxiety out the metaphorical window. “But he was wearing a black suit and a green tie and most of the tabloids noticed. It just got me thinking that Chat Noir’s mostly ignored in favor of Ladybug and I thought that was weird. I know it’s probably a bad tip, but I thought I should ask.”

“Well, I’m your girl,” said Alya. Her mind was reeling. If she could find the source of the tip, and that source wasn’t a complete nutjob, that would narrow down the pool of suspects considerably. As much as she loved and focused on Ladybug, Chat Noir was still a superhero. This was her _business_. The Ladyblog might be called the Ladyblog for a reason, but that didn’t mean a certain leather-clad sidekick was completely exempt from scrutiny. And if she could find Chat, Ladybug couldn’t be too far behind…

“Thanks, Alya,” said Marinette. She hesitated. “You won’t… tell anybody I said that, will you? About Chat Noir? It’s a terrible theory, really.”

“’Course not,” said Alya, but the cogs in her head were spinning at breakneck speed. The implications of this new information dwarfed anything else going on around her. She barely even noticed Marinette looping their arms together with a relieved sigh.

“Oh good,” she said. “So, you’ll send me the Chat Noir stuff later?”

“Sure.”

“Maybe we could hang out after school,” she ventured. “Catch a movie? I… I know I’ve been a terrible friend lately. I wanna make it up to you.”

“Sounds great.” Nino and Adrien were on their way up the steps and Nino waved. “Let’s go catch up with the boys, we’ve got a few minutes before class.” But Alya barely paid attention to the ensuing conversation. She had more important things to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, Nino doesn't smoke and steal his dad's cigarettes. I needed another smell for poetry's sake. And as anyone who has ever lived with a smoker can tell you, the smell gets _everywhere_ , no matter how hard you try to avoid it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette is Not Obsessed I Swear.

Marinette clutched her hair in frustration. “Tikki, why am I like this?” she groaned. It was four days since Chat’s collapse on the roof, and she had spent the majority of those days holed up in her room, feverishly digging through the Ladyblog and other similar sites. She looked for any mention of “Chat Noir” and “identity theory” she could find, but without any luck. She’d run across several interesting theories regarding Ladybug — one particularly memorable one suggested she was a CIA plant, and that the Akumas were just part of a government conspiracy to distract from growing tensions in the Middle East — but it seemed like the majority of people regarded Chat Noir the same way Alya did; that he was just Ladybug’s sidekick, and therefore unworthy of the same level of scrutiny.

She wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good thing.

“You know, Marinette,” said Tikki gently from her perch on the computer monitor, “if you really want to know who he is, you could just ask him. I’m sure that would be easier.”

“But I _can’t_ ,” whined Marinette. “If I do that, I’ll have to tell him who _I_ am, and I just…” She trailed off and slumped in her desk chair. “I’m not ready for that,” she mumbled.

Ever since That Night she’d had the feeling she was going somewhere she shouldn’t, but it was like a compulsion. She couldn’t stop herself; his shoe, the champagne… It swirled non-stop in her mind, like nothing else mattered. She wasn’t even sure she _wanted_ to know. And yet here she was, four days later, growing increasingly annoyed as her investigations turned up less than nothing.

She scoured every piece of coverage on the hotel benefit, although fashion commentary and guest lists had been mostly shunted to the side in favor of the Akuma attack. She swallowed the ache in her chest as she scrolled through miles of pictures of Adrien and Chloé, looking every bit the red carpet dream-team as she hung off his arm with — and maybe Marinette was just projecting here — a smug look on her face while they posed for the cameras.

The worst part was that through all of her hours of searching, not a single person had made a public suggestion that Chat Noir had attended the dinner at Le Grand Paris Hotel. The only connection was the Akuma attack — which of course he’d shown up for — and Adrien’s choice of attire that evening. This was a problem for several reasons, the most obvious of which was Marinette’s big fat mouth. She was so _furious_ with herself, letting her suspicion slip to _Alya_ , of all people. She’d regretted it the second the words were out of her mouth. Alya had promised not to say anything, but Marinette recognized the glint in her friend’s eyes. The girl was a reporter, an _obsessed_ reporter, and no amount of backtracking on Marinette’s part was going to fix whatever plan she had accidentally set in motion.

Since there were no other sources to confirm what Marinette had said, this was going to raise a lot of awkward questions and she didn’t know how she was going to fend them off. Plus, as far as she could tell, the only highly visible candidate was Adrien, who for whatever reason had decided _that night_ of all nights to publically hint at the upcoming Ladybug/Chat Noir line from his father’s company, the worst kept non-secret of the Parisian fashion world. It was ridiculous, but Alya had already suggested many times in collège that Adrien bore a striking resemblance to the leather-clad superhero, and this was not going to deter her from that absurd line of thinking in the slightest.

She had to warn Chat somehow — but how the hell could she do that?

Marinette let her head fall with a thump on her desk and sighed. Why couldn’t she just have rolled with Alya’s suggestion she had a crush on him? It would have been way easier to just play along, but _no_ , she had to go and put her partner’s identity in jeopardy because she couldn’t confront her own confusion about whatever had happened on the roof. She had, in the moment, chalked the fluttering in her stomach up to the stress of thinking he was hurt, and refused to dwell more on the subject. But now…

Of course Chat Noir was attractive; he had legions of fangirls for a reason. Even when they first met, he had a certain boyish charm that made him endearing, in spite of his soft spot for terrible puns and double-entendres. But he was her _best friend_ , her dorky, overdramatic partner, and it was hard to divorce that person from the guy on the rooftop — the one who apologized for worrying her because _he_ passed out, the one whose fingers she had laced with her own while his head was in her lap, the one who _glowed_ when he talked about a girl whose name he couldn’t tell her.

The confession made everything all the more complicated, because even if, for the sake of argument, she _did_ have a crush on him, what then? He was head over heels for another girl in his civilian life, and no amount of pretend-flirting would ever change the genuine look of pure softness and warmth when he called her the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She couldn’t even be jealous about it, because she knew the feeling all too well. So what if he said it was never going to happen? So what if the girl supposedly liked someone else? She couldn’t disrespect a love like that, not when she’d lived it.

And complicating their comfortable partnership with an unrequited crush… It was so selfish, wasn’t it? Not that she _did_ have a crush on him, of course. But turning around after being rejected by the love of her life and lusting after her skin-tight-leather-wearing partner in anti-crime instead, just because she suddenly noticed he went through puberty like everyone else was just… _wrong_. Wrong and unfair to him. Their friendship. She pushed away from her desk and rolled across the floor with a huff. This line of thinking was getting her nowhere.

The simplest course of action would be to simply see him again. Preferably in daytime, without the romantic silver of moonlight to complicate the situation. No Akumas, no life-threatening battles to distract from the fact that hey, look, it’s just Chat Noir, the dorkiest man-child in Paris. Then she could prove once and for all that this was just her overthinking things, caught up in the residual Adrien-drama she must be projecting onto the closest blond boy on hand. But she wouldn’t see him for another few days at least, if he kept his promise.

“I don’t like him, Tikki,” she said aloud. “Not like that.”

Tikki sighed. “Okay, Marinette,” she said, floating over to rest on Marinette’s shoulder.

“I’m just worried about him,” Marinette continued unnecessarily. “I saw something I shouldn’t have and I got curious, that’s all.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not obsessing,” she insisted, although her voice sounded unconvincing even to herself.

“Okay.”

Marinette groaned and stared at the ceiling. “I’m obsessing, aren’t I?”

Tikki giggled. “Maybe a little?” she suggested. “Although really, you should just talk to him about it, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Of _course_ I can’t, Tikki!” Marinette rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “You didn’t see his face when I mentioned the champagne! If I say anything, he’s either going to freak out, or he’s going to _actually_ tell me, and I don’t even know if I _want_ to know. Plus, if I _do_ find out, I’ll have to tell him who _I_ am! Quid pro quo! And I just, like, _can’t_ do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She searched for the words to describe the innate feeling she’d had since she claimed her Miraculous. “Because what if one of us gets Akumatized? What if one of us accidentally lets the other’s identity slip? It’s hard enough keeping Ladybug a secret from Alya, and now I might have accidentally made Chat a bigger target. And…” She deflated a little. “What if he finds out I’m Marinette and he’s… disappointed?”

“He won’t be,” said Tikki adamantly. “He already loves you for who you are, the magic doesn’t — and _can’t_ — change that.”

“You don’t know that, Tikki! Just because Ladybug is his friend doesn’t mean Marinette can live up to his expectations.”

Tikki floated up and hovered in front of Marinette’s face sternly. “You need to stop putting yourself down like this,” she said in such a motherly tone it put Marinette’s own mother to shame. “The magic doesn’t give you anything you don’t already have. It may help _enhance_ certain qualities, yes, but Marinette is every bit as strong and confident as Ladybug, even if you don’t always see it.”

Marinette sighed, cupping her kwami in her hands. “I know,” she said, and she _did_ , somewhere. Deep down. “It’s just… if even _I_ have trouble seeing that, how can I expect _him_ to?

Tikki hugged her thumb. “He will,” she assured her. “You just have to give him the chance.”

Marinette considered this. A part of her wanted _so badly_ to get this over with, the part of her that hesitated at Chat’s suggestion on the roof, and that confusing part of her that fluttered when she held his hand agreed. But the dominant part of her, the anxious one filled with “What ifs” and “This can only end badlys”, was holding strong. “I need to think,” she said, rolling over to her computer. She resolutely X-ed out of every Chat-related browser page and turned off the monitor. “Starting with… not doing _this_.”

“Are you going out again?” asked Tikki.

Marinette nodded resignedly. “It’s the only thing that helps.”

“Alright then.” Tikki floated up and nuzzled her chosen’s nose. “But don’t stay out too late, okay? You’ve been pushing yourself too hard the past few weeks.”

“I’ll be fine,” protested Marinette, but nodded nonetheless.

“Good.”

“Tikki, spots on!”

The room glowed pink, and Ladybug slipped through the skylight into the cool evening air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the next chapter mostly typed up so I may or may not give you two updates in one day. We'll see if I can manage to stop crying over old Panic! At The Disco albums long enough to actually finish it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ladybug is tsundere and my anime is showing.

As much as Adrien hated to admit it, the promised week of rest had done him good. It took every ounce of strength he had not to fly out the window once he was left to his own devices in the evenings, but somehow he managed to suppress his urges and focus on homework and sleep. The lack of activity made him antsy and restless, although he had to concede that getting on a regular sleeping schedule was helping a lot. His brain was less foggy, he was eating more, and he didn’t mind the more mindless daily obligations Nathalie and his father kept throwing at him. He felt _better_. More alive. The fact that he no longer looked like he belonged in a public service campaign poster, warning about the dangers of heroin addiction, probably didn’t hurt either.

He’d made it back to the hotel fine, a little woozy but otherwise okay. His transformation dropped the second he touched down behind some bushes, just missing being detected by a passing police cruiser by the skin of his teeth. The paramedics were still swarming the scene, but it seemed like Ladybug’s healing stream had done its job — nobody seemed hurt, anyway, and the rubble was gone. He jogged toward the crowd, scanning for a familiar hint of lemon yellow.

Chloé, of course, was standing in the center of a clamoring group of reporters, lapping up the attention. The second she caught sight of him, however, she shoved them all aside and ran to meet him. “Oh my God, Adrien, where have you _been_?” she demanded, throwing her arms around his neck. “I couldn’t find you _anywhere_ , I was worried sick!”

“I, uh, hid in the basement,” he said, awkwardly patting her back. “It was chaos, I got turned around, and just decided to tough it out in the laundry room. Is your ankle okay?”

“Of course it is, Ladybug always fixes everything.” She pulled away and brushed at his jacket. “Why are you so dirty? I thought all the rubble got cleared up when she saved the day and everything.”

“Oh, um…” He scrambled to think of an excuse. “I guess they don’t clean down there as much as they clean everywhere else.” He hurriedly brushed himself off. It wasn’t really that bad, just a light dusting of whiteish powder on his shoulders and knees, but you never knew what could happen if a particularly nosy photographer looked too closely.

Chloé made a face. “I’ll let Papa know he needs to have a word with the staff. Ugh, disgusting.”

“So, what happens now?” he asked, hoping to change the subject. “Do we all go home, or…?”

“Oh, no, _please_ stay,” pleaded Chloé. “The ballroom’s been fixed and you only just got here!” She tugged on his sleeve and pouted.

Adrien was torn. On the one hand, seeing Chloé again was really nice, and when was the last time he’d had a night off to simply hang out with a friend? But he was so tired, still lightheaded after his fall, and he _had_ promised his Lady…

“Adrien!” Nathalie’s sharp voice rang across the street and he looked up to see her storming towards him, the Gorilla hot on her heels. His decision was about to be made for him, it seemed. “Adrien, where have you _been_?”

“The laundry room,” he said apologetically. The lie was easier the second time around. “I hid there during the attack, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Nathalie huffed. “Well, at least you’re safe,” she said curtly. “Come along, we’re leaving.”

“What? No, it’s barely eight-thirty!” protested Chloé shrilly, but Nathalie gave a firm shake of her head.

“That’s quite enough excitement for one day,” she said sternly. “Mr Agreste will have my head for this as it is. What were you thinking, running off like that?” The Gorilla politely but firmly put a hand on Adrien’s back and guided him to the car, Nathalie scolding the whole way. Adrien shot an apologetic look over his shoulder at Chloé, who was standing in the middle of the street, a look of scandalized resignation on her face as she watched him walk away.

When he got home Nathalie had offered one last round of “Don’t do that agains” and “You have a bodyguard for a _reason_ s” before sending him off to his room, and he barely managed to kick off his shoes before he collapsed in his bed, asleep nearly as soon as he hit the sheets.

The next day was better, but not by much. He got to go to school, but had to use his lunchbreak to take the pictures for the previous day’s interview. When he got back, however, he was surprised by Marinette actually coming over to join Nino and Alya while they were talking to him. She didn’t say anything, and excused herself to speak with Alya almost immediately, but the fact that she’d willingly stood within a five-meter radius of him at all made his heart soar. Maybe they were going to be okay.

The rest of the week passed without incident, not even an Akuma to distract him, but by the weekend he was feeling better than ever and itching to get back on the street. It hadn’t been a full week yet, but maybe just a quick run? Just around the neighborhood, honest. His Lady wouldn’t mind, would she?

“Plagg?” he called. It was Saturday and the afternoon was edging into evening. “Plagg, I wanna go out.”

“Then go out,” came the petulant reply from his loft. “You don’t need my permission.”

“You know what I mean.”

Plagg floated reluctantly down to the main level of Adrien’s bedroom, grumbling the whole way. “And here I was, just getting used to a stress-free lifestyle,” he complained. “All the cheese I could eat, endless naps…”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “You do that anyway,” he pointed out.

Plagg sniffed. “It’s easier to enjoy it without all these constant _interruptions_.”

“Yeah, yeah, my heart bleeds for you, really. Claws out!”

It was amazing, flying through the sky again. It had only been a few days, but it felt like a lifetime since he’d done this and he let out a “Whoo!” of excitement as he vaulted over chimneys and sprinted over rooftops. It was like the first time all over again, that feeling of pure joy and unadulterated _freedom_ coursing through his body, boosting his energy until he was practically giddy. _‘The only thing,’_ he thought happily as he scaled the Eiffel Tower, _‘that could possibly make this better would be—’_

“Ladybug!” he exclaimed in surprise, pausing mid-climb over the railing around the uppermost platform.

She turned, her mouth an “O” of confusion. “Chat!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Chat grinned and vaulted the rest of the way onto solid ground. “Fancied a walk,” he said. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Ladybug pursed her lips. “A week, Chat!” she said, walking over and prodding him in the chest. “You promised!”

“Ah, what can I say?” He shrugged. “Maybe I missed you.”

She turned away, but Chat caught a hint of pink in her cheeks. “Stupid cat,” she muttered.

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” he said more seriously, catching her arm gently. “I’m way better, I swear. I feel fine, look!” She glanced at him and he struck a ridiculous pose. “Would a sick Chat Noir do _this_?”

She snorted. “Probably.” But her voice was softer now, and she smiled.

“Listen, I know I said a week, but I was getting cabin fever and I just… I _needed_ this, y’know?” He gestured widely, taking in the Parisian horizon. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the Seine. The air was cool and all the way up here it was quiet, not even the low rush of traffic really reaching them. He’d lived in Paris his whole life, but it was just as breathtaking every time.

Ladybug gave a low hum of agreement and leaned over the railing beside him, taking in the view. “As long as you’re okay,” she conceded. “That’s what really matters.”

His heart swelled. They stood in a comfortable silence, looking out across the skyline, a thin breeze ruffling their hair. If he could have stayed like this forever, he would. It was perfect.

After a while, Ladybug cleared her throat. “Chat…” she began.

“Hmm?”

“What happened?” she asked quietly, gently. Like she was afraid to ask. “That night, I mean.”

He considered his answer carefully. “I… I’ve been pretty busy lately,” he said finally. “I haven’t really had a lot of time to do, well, anything, to be honest. And that night I just… had an ill-advised drink on top of everything else, and I guess that was like, the final nail in the coffin, so to speak.” He caught her eye and flushed. “Sorry, poor choice of words.”

“But your kwami said you hadn’t been sleeping,” she said accusingly. “You can’t not sleep for _months_ and not say anything! It’s unhealthy.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t think it was a big deal, and you were…” He trailed off. “It doesn’t matter though, right?” he continued lightly. “I was fine then, and I’m fine now. It’s all good.”

“I was what?”

“Huh?”

She turned to face him, a hand on her hip. “You didn’t think it was a big deal, and I was _what_?”

“Nothing!” he said. He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “You were preoccupied, that’s all. I didn’t want to add to the problem. Me being tired doesn’t really compare.”

“You’re damn right it doesn’t compare!” she exploded, stamping her foot. “Crying over some stupid boy that won’t even _matter_ five years from now has _nothing_ on you _falling unconscious on top of me_!” She was furious, and Chat cowered under her gaze. The fact that she was a head shorter than him seemed inconsequential right about now. “Your _health_ is _way_ more important than me worrying about my dating life!”

“I didn’t think it mattered!” he said weakly, but she was having none of it.

“You are my _partner_!” she yelled, her eyes glistening with tears. “Of course it _fucking_ matters! I happen to care about you! A _lot_! And if something’s wrong, you need to _tell me_ , because I—” Her voice cracked. “I… was so scared, and I didn’t know what happened, and I — I thought—” She was crying now. “I couldn’t stop thinking _what if I lost you_?”

Chat was speechless. Ladybug stood in front of him, body tense, hands balled into fists at her sides, tears streaming silently down her face. “We’re a _team_ ,” she said harshly. “Patrols won’t matter if there’s no-one to patrol _with_.”

He blinked slowly, the silence after her rage deafening in his ears. “You’ll never lose me, my Lady,” he said softly.

Ladybug let out a bark of laughter through her tears. “Well, I know that _now_ ,” she said, angrily scrubbing at her eyes with her fists.

“I… I’m sorry, Ladybug.” His voice came out almost a whisper, but she didn’t answer. He edged closer, gently taking one of her hands in his. “Are you mad at me?” he asked tentatively.

“No, I’m… God, I’m sorry, Chat.” She rested her head on his chest, looking at their entwined hands. “I was — _am_ mad, but not at you. You totally didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry.” She sniffled. “I should have… I’ve been so selfish lately, and when everything fell apart… I was so _scared_ and I should have seen it coming.”

“You’re not selfish,” he murmured, resting his chin on her head.

“Yes, I have been, Chat. I’ve been selfish and had my head so far up my own ass I didn’t even notice you were hurting. And I was a horrible friend to you and I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said.

“Yes, there _is_. Sure, you could have said something, but I should have been paying attention too. That’s what friends _do_.”

“You’re an excellent friend,” he assured her. “I’ll take care of myself better, and I’ll tell you if something’s wrong, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

“Stop apologizing,” she insisted.

“Only if you do.”

She threw up her free hand in defeat. “Ugh, _fine_.” She pulled away from him but didn’t let go of his hand, tugging him instead to sit down with their backs to the tower. She rested her head on his shoulder again and they stared out over the darkening skyline.

“So what have you been doing that’s so time-consuming, anyway?” she asked finally.

Chat hummed thoughtfully. “School, work, extra-curriculars,” he answered vaguely, shrugging with one shoulder. “Not a lot of time to be a superhero on the side.”

Ladybug snorted. “Oh, come _on_ ,” she said.

“What?”

She glanced up at him. “You’ll have to be a little more specific than that.”

He shifted his legs uncomfortably. “I thought you said we should keep our civilian lives separate,” he said carefully.

“Well, I mean…” She hesitated. “I’m not sure I’m ready to jump right in to unmasking or anything, but, like… how are we going to get there if we don’t know each other like that at all? I mean, I drop hints sometimes, but you never talk about your life outside of this. _Ever_.”

He chuckled. “I live a pretty distinctive life, Bug.”

“You don’t have to go into detail or anything,” she assured him. “I don’t think I feel right going into detail either. But, I mean, we’ve been friends for so long. Best friends, right?” She glanced up at him again and he smiled, warming at the memory. “I just… We’re going to take that step eventually I guess, aren’t we?”

He could hardly breathe. She’d always been so staunchly against the idea, saying it was dangerous, but now…? He could feel it, just out of reach, that possibility, that _hope_ , but it was _there_. At _her_ suggestion. “I, uh, yeah,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound as strangled to her as it did in his ears. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So maybe we could just, I don’t know, ease into it or something.” She looked down at their hands and he followed her gaze, his heart skipping a beat when she laced their fingers together. He knew what her hands felt like under her suit, soft and warm, from the memories he’d tried so hard not to read into, refusing to give himself another reason to hope. Her voice, softer without her transformation, her ungloved fingers in his hair. The way her voice broke when she hugged him, telling him to take care of himself, the blush on her cheeks when she pulled the blanket from his face, warm blue eyes meeting glowing green.

Ease into it. Sure, he could do that.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual as the butterflies in his stomach started doing somersaults. “I have a… demanding part-time job,” he began. “Family business, I guess you could call it. It cuts into my school time, but I still have homework, so there’s that. Then I have a bunch of after-school activities that I have to do, ’cause my dad, I don’t know. He has… high expectations. Calls it ‘enriching my life’ or whatever.”

“Really?” Ladybug pursed her lips. “Huh, sounds like a… a friend of mine.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not all bad, but I have a pretty… intense schedule.” He leaned his head back against the tower and considered the sky. “Doesn’t leave much wiggle-room for anything else.” He grimaced. “So I started going out at night to meet you on patrols and, well, there went my sleeping time.”

“You don’t _have_ to go on patrols, you know,” Ladybug pointed out. “They’re not an obligation.”

He shrugged. “They kind of are, though.”

“Of course they’re not. I can handle running through an empty city on my own.”

“Sure you can, but I still want to be there,” he said. “If I don’t come on patrols, I don’t get to see you.”

She lifted her head up to look him full in the face. “Don’t tell me you’ve been skipping sleep on _my_ account,” she said, a dangerous edge in her voice.

Chat met her eye, puzzled. “Seeing you,” he said matter-of-factly, “is more important than sleep.”

She stared at him incredulously, mouth flapping open and shut a few times before she smacked him on the shoulder. “You _idiot_ ,” she said vehemently.

“ _Ow,_ what was that for?”

“What, did you think I was just going to up and _disappear_ if you didn’t hang out with me until three in the morning? You see me every day, you moron, I’m still gonna be here if you take a few hours off to _nap_!”

“Hey!” he protested as she swatted his shoulder a second time. “I have a lot of shit going on lately, okay? I need to see you to keep myself from going insane.” That stopped her. She sat back, staring at him again. “You’re the only good thing in my life right now,” he admitted, feeling his face heat up. _‘Oh my God, stop talking.’_ “I just… need to see you, okay?”

He couldn’t look at her. Instead he looked at their hands, remarkably still intertwined. Why could he never shut up when he needed to? It had been, what a week since she called him her best friend? _‘Way to screw things up, Adrien,’_ he thought bitterly. Steeling himself, he forced himself to peek at her out of the corner of his eye.

She was blushing. Wide-eyed, slack-jawed, honest-to-God _blushing_. He did a double-take. Nope, still happening. He wondered if he could pinch himself through the leather of his suit, and if she would notice. He had claws, maybe that would make it easier.

“Y-you’re a moron, you know that?” she said shakily, snapping herself out of whatever trance she was under. She settled back next to him but her ears were red. “I’ll always be here. Stupid cat.”

Chat couldn’t figure out what his insides were doing. His heart was going double-time; he could feel his pulse thudding in every part of his body, and his stomach was flip-flopping all over the place. Ladybug, unflappable in the face of every cheesy pick-up line he’d ever thrown at her, was blushing because he said aloud what they both knew? That she was important to him? That a day without her was, as far as he was concerned, a day wasted? Maybe that was laying it on a little thick, but hell, he’d loved her since he was thirteen years old. He deserved to be a little cheesy.

“Don’t tell me my charms are finally working on you, my Lady,” he joked, eyeing her hesitantly. He didn’t want to push too far, but his lovesick heart was beating too hard to just let this slide.

She laughed shrilly. “Don’t be silly,” she said, but her blush hadn’t lessened. She was squeezing his hand apparently without realizing it, and he didn’t even care.

“You know,” he said in a sing-song voice, “if you liked that, there are lots of other things I could say.”

“Oh, really?” She was staring anywhere but at him. “Like what?”

“Like you’re very cute when you blush. Red really is your color.”

“Now you’re just teasing me,” she huffed, but her fading blush deepened.

“Teasing?” He laughed, emboldened by his success. “Hardly. _This_ is teasing.”

He caught her chin with a finger and turned her face towards him. Her blue eyes were slightly puffy from before, but they never broke contact with his. Her mouth was slightly open, and he could feel her breath on his lips as he pulled her closer, stopping just before their noses touched. He paused there, wetting his lips, and her breathing almost stopped. His own pulse was thudding wildly in his ears, he’d never been this close before, another inch and he could kiss her, _‘oh my God I really want to kiss her right now.’_ Her eyes flicked down to his lips for the briefest of moments, oh God he could do it, couldn’t he, this was supposed to be a game…

He leaned in close, breath in her ear, and whispered, “You have some dirt on your nose.”

He barely had time to duck away, snickering as she tried to smack him upside the head. “You _jerk_ ,” she shrieked, but she was laughing too.

“My Lady, are you insinuating you actually wanted me to kiss you?” he teased, although a part of him hoped she’d say yes. “I suppose that could be arranged, if you ask nicely. The top of the Eiffel Tower is hardly the worst place for a first kiss.”

“Of course n—” But she cut herself off and he could practically see the wheels in her head spinning. Her blush was fading, and a shit-eating grin was spreading slowly across her face.

“Bug?” he asked warily. He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.

“Oh, nothing,” she said cheerfully, releasing his hand and picking herself up off the ground. “You’re right, it’s a great place for a first kiss.” She sauntered towards the railing, hips swaying a little more than strictly necessary, and leaned on her elbows to look out over the Seine, back arched, ass deliciously rounded.

“Really?” he murmured, trying very hard not to ogle her from his still-seated vantage point.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder and smirked, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. He tried not to gulp too audibly. The tables were rapidly being turned and he had no idea how to deal with it. “First kiss,” she said slowly as if contemplating it, and nodded thoughtfully. “Definitely. But second kiss, well, gosh, I’m not too sure about that.”

He got to his feet and joined her, back to the railing, horniness slightly dampened by confusion. “I’m sure I could think of somewhere else to take you,” he purred. “But you have to have a first kiss to have a second one.”

“Oh, but kitten, don’t you remember?” She looked at him innocently, but the way she walked two fingers up his arm was making him feel anything but innocent. “We’ve already _had_ our first kiss.”

She lost him there. “Uh, I’m pretty sure I’d remember kissing someone as ravishing as you.”

She laughed coquettishly and his insides squirmed. “Oh, that’s _right_ , you couldn’t remember _anything_ about Dark Cupid.” The Akuma rang a bell certainly. He’d blocked her from one of the arrows, and the next thing he knew he woke up an hour later next to a fountain with Cataclysm activated. She’d flung him at the Akuma. She’d been pinned underneath him with his head in her hands…

A realization was dawning and he couldn’t believe it, and that’s when she leaned in for the kill.

“Silly kitty,” she murmured, leaning in close, “how do you think I woke you up?”

His brain broke.

Ladybug cackled triumphantly, all traces of the seductive temptress she’d been channeling gone. “And _that_ ,” she crowed, “is what I call teasing. Oh my God, you should have seen your face!”

“Hilarious,” he said weakly, mind still reeling. She’d _kissed_ him. Their _lips_ had _touched_ and he _didn’t even remember_. He felt like he needed to sit down.

“I’m sorry,” she snickered, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “But holy shit, I couldn’t resist. That was too good.”

“Did we really kiss?” he asked faintly.

She sobered up a little. “Yeah,” she admitted. “But don’t worry, it’s not like you missed anything.” Her eyes widened and she backtracked in a panic. “N-not that you aren’t a good kisser, I mean, I’m sure you are, um, but you just… weren’t super into it, so, like, that made it harder, and, yeah.” He looked at her, more confused than offended. “You were under his spell, so you, like, hated me, and I had to hunt you down, and it was, like, this whole _thing_ , and, um, yeah.”

Chat grinned in spite of himself. “Well I can assure you, my Lady, should the opportunity ever arise, you’ll find me… much more _enthusiastic_ the second time around.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Although between you and me, this place is a dump, so feel free to give me ideas for a change of venue.”

She laughed. “I’ll keep you posted,” she said, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Anyways,” he said, stretching lazily, “I’m still in the mood to do some running. Look at us, sitting around when we have a whole city to explore!” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Care to join me?”

She gave a mock gasp of surprise. “Why, I thought you’d never ask.” She perched next to him on the railing, unhooking her yo-yo from around her waist. “Bet you I can get to the top of Notre Dame before you,” she said.

“Bet you I’ll get there first.”

“Oh yeah? What will you give me if I win?”

“My love and adoration?”

“Pfft, lame. Next.”

“Okay, rude. What will you give me if _I_ win, little miss perfect?”

“Tell you what,” she said, bouncing her yo-yo in her palm. “If you beat me to the top of the cathedral, I’ll tell you more about the kiss.” She caught his eye and grinned. “Starting with tongue.” And with that she was gone.

“Oh, not _fair_ ,” he whined aloud, but she was long gone, the echoes of her laugh all that remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, two updates in one day. Are y'all feeling blessed? I am. (these kids are so dense oh my god)
> 
> I'm going to start trying to respond to the comments more often ~~(at all)~~. Your interaction is what's keeping this thing going, swear to God. I don't know if I'd still be updating at all if it hadn't been for the overwhelming feedback I've gotten. (I still can't believe this thing has gotten into _double digits_ holy shit.) Thank you all, so much.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marinette has an epiphany and Tikki is a much-needed voice of reason.

Chat had finally gone home after an hour of racing across Paris, although only at Ladybug’s very firm insistence. She’d watched him fade into the distance before starting her own trek home, zipping through the streets to the drunken cheers of a few passers-by out for a night on the town.

She detransformed as she alighted on her balcony, slipping through her trapdoor with a serene expression. Safely on her bed, she very calmly kicked off her shoes, lay face down in her pillows, and screamed.

“Marinette?” said Tikki uncertainly but Marinette ignored her, screeching incoherently. She sighed and settled back, waiting for the freak-out to pass.

“ _What the hell am I doing, Tikki?_ ” came Marinette’s muffled voice eventually.

“There’s nothing wrong with flirting with someone you like,” Tikki pointed out, but Marinette just flailed her arms.

“I was literally _just saying_ that I didn’t have a crush on him!” she wailed, sitting up but still clutching a pillow in distress. “Why did he have to come along and _ruin it_?”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting, just a little bit?” suggested Tikki gently. “There’s nothing wrong with liking someone, it’s perfectly natural—”

“ _Perfectly natural_?” shrieked Marinette. “There’s nothing _natural_ about it! He’s _Chat Noir_ , for God’s sake! He’s a dork who’s pretended to hit on me for years, _and_ he likes someone else! And I — I…” She bit the pillow savagely, a crazed look in her eyes. “I still can barely look Adrien in the face, what does it say about _me_ that I can just go off and have some sort of — of _rebound crush_?”

“I really do think you’re overthinking this,” said Tikki, floating over and placing a calming paw on Marinette’s hand, which had tightened its grip on the pillow so hard her knuckles were white. “You’re young, and it happens. You can’t control who you have feelings for, you know.”

“Oh, Tikki,” Marinette moaned, flopping backwards onto the mattress. “Why did this have to happen? He’s been doing this for _years_ , why is it affecting me _now_?”

Tikki hummed thoughtfully. “You _are_ getting over Adrien now, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I _guess_ ,” said Marinette, staring at the ceiling. “But still! He’s always been there, y’know? If I was going to think he was pretty, don’t you think I’d have noticed before now?”

Tikki didn’t answer, only hummed again as she settled on Marinette’s chest. Marinette buried her face in her hands, pressing down on her eyes until she saw stars. This whole situation was so ridiculous, she didn’t know what to specifically scream about first.

There was her frankly cringe-worthy freak out session, where she took out all her frustration from her own selfishness on a cowering Chat, who had just _taken_ it, even refusing her apologies after she calmed down, as if he had anything to be sorry about. She was supposed to be the more level-headed of the pair, and she’d yelled at him for something that wasn’t even his fault. And his following admission, that she kept him sane, and that he viewed her as the only good thing in his life, was a whole separate can of worms. She’d been simultaneously outraged and flattered, and honestly downright _shocked_ , especially when he looked away like he’d said something wrong and embarrassing.

She hadn’t been able to hide the rising heat in her cheeks and he’d taken that fact and run with it.

The teasing should have been easy to brush off; she knew she couldn’t take him seriously, not with his track record. But there was that moment, when he cupped her chin and their breath mingled, his eyes half-shut and smoldering, where she honestly thought he was going to kiss her, and she wasn’t really sure if she’d have minded. He broken the tension with that stupid line whispered in her ear, because _of course_ he had, she couldn’t possibly have expected him to follow through. He _told_ her he was teasing before he did it, for crying out loud. But no matter which way you sliced it, there was no denying she’d almost been disappointed when he pulled away.

She blamed what happened next on that confusing, inexplicable feeling of _loss_ , like she’d missed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity without really knowing what it entailed. The memory of their kiss had formed in her mind and she almost dropped it, but she _couldn’t_ let him win. Not like this. So she’d dug deep, remembering every movie with a femme fatal she’d ever seen, and combined it with all the teasing and cheesy seduction she’d picked up from simply being in his vicinity for nearly four years.

And he _couldn’t take it_.

It had almost thrown her off, looking back at him from the railing, seeing him sitting there with reddening cheeks and a slack-jawed expression, eyes very clearly _not_ looking at her face, but she’d been having too much fun to care. And when she walked her fingers up his arm he’d been practically drooling. Or — and here was the dangerous _if_ in the equation — what if he’d been rendered practically speechless because he thought she’d been taking him seriously? What if he thought she’d taken his teasing to heart and was genuinely trying to flirt with him? The worst part of that was, of course, that on some level, she’d actually _enjoyed_ the reaction he gave her. Alarmingly, she realized, there was a part of her that wanted to do it again.

What if he’d never meant for it to go that far?

“Why are boys so confusing, Tikki?” she lamented aloud. Tikki patted her shirt sympathetically. She groped around blindly for another pillow to yell her feelings into and pulled it towards her to press over her face.

It was the cat pillow.

She groaned in frustration and tossed it away, sailing off her loft and skidding to a halt under her chaise. “I can’t like him,” she declared loudly. “He likes someone else.”

“How are you so sure?” asked Tikki. “And even so, why would that matter?”

“Because he _told_ me, Tikki! And if he likes someone else, _I_ can’t like him, because that’s not an option.”

“You don’t have to act on it if you don’t want to,” said Tikki patiently.

“But I don’t want to do that again,” wailed Marinette. “I’m still not over the first time.”

“You could just talk to him, I’m sure he—”

 “Oh God, imagine being rejected by _Chat_!” Marinette writhed, clutching at her hair.

“You don’t know he’ll reject you, Marinette!”

“Yes, I _do_! You didn’t hear him, Tikki, he _loves_ her! Probably even more than I loved Adrien, because at least it sounds like he can actually _talk_ to her!” Marinette rolled over, upsetting Tikki’s perch with a squeak. “She’s selfless and _gorgeous_ and you should have seen the look on his face when he talked about her, it was almost like—”

No.

His eyes, soft and warm, talking about the girl. Those same eyes, the same expression, peeking up at her from her lap. His voice, soft, gentle, _‘she makes the whole world brighter_. _’_ His promise, _‘you’ll never lose me_. _’_

 _‘The most important person in my life,’_ he admitted.

_‘Present company excluded.’_

“That’s insane,” she said.

“What is?”

“He was — and I… But he…” Marinette stumbled over her words as her brain struggled to keep up. He _couldn’t_ have. That was absurd. To her _face_. No.

“What is it, Marinette?”

“He can’t… _like me_ , can he?” stuttered Marinette. It was like an out-of-body experience, viewing the situation with a detached sense of surrealism. No way. No way, no way, no _way_.

“Would that really be so strange?” asked Tikki gently. “You said it yourself, he _has_ been flirting with you for years.”

No. No, no, no, this was _not_ happening. “If he likes me…” said Marinette haltingly, faintly. “He told me how much he loved…”

Oh. Oh, no.

“This whole time,” breathed Marinette. “I was so wrapped up in Adrien… I thought he was _joking_.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to see things you don’t want to see,” said Tikki, settling on Marinette’s shoulder and stroking her hair soothingly.

“No. _No_ ,” said Marinette firmly, massaging her temples. “This is just me overthinking things, because I have a crush on Chat Noir.” She paused and stifled a shriek. “Oh my God, I have a _crush_ on _Chat Noir_!”

“There are worse things,” said Tikki patiently.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening.”

Tikki gently went to work on loosening a tangle Marinette’s flailing had caused. “I know it’s confusing, and maybe even a little scary. But liking someone is nothing to be ashamed of, and if you think he likes you back, well, isn’t that a good thing?”

“But this is going to complicate things,” said Marinette desperately. “I don’t even know how I feel about Adrien anymore, and what if I’m reading into something that isn’t there because I’m projecting leftover feelings onto Chat and… and what is this going to do to our friendship?” A horrible thought struck her. “What if we break up and he hates me and then we have to see each other every day because of Akumas and we don’t work well together anymore and Hawkmoth takes over the city and—”

“You need to _breathe_ ,” instructed Tikki, and Marinette inhaled shakily. “I think you might be making this a little more complicated in your head than it really is.”

“I just…” Marinette closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. “I’ve never thought of him this way before. I don’t want to lose him as a friend.”

“You won’t,” Tikki assured her.

“Maybe I _will_ ,” she insisted. “This is different from Adrien. With Adrien I…” She swallowed, the familiar ache in her chest throbbing painfully. “I forgot to think of him like a person. With Chat I have so much more to lose.” She looked at her kwami, biting her lip. “I _can’t lose him_ , Tikki,” she whispered.

“You _won’t_.” Tikki scooted over and hugged Marinette’s neck.

Marinette hesitated. “Maybe you’re right.” She chewed on her lip, a little anxiety ebbing away. “He promised.”

She dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “Ugh, I can’t believe Alya was right.”

Tikki giggled and swooped over to settle on one of Marinette’s discarded pillows. “She knows you very well.”

“Oh, God, _Alya_.” Marinette shot up into a sitting position, hands clutching her hair. “The Chat thing! I have to stop her!” She looked helplessly at Tikki. “There’s probably no chance she’s forgotten, has she?” she said rhetorically.

Tikki sighed. “I don’t think so,” she said. “But look at the bright side, if she can’t find anything she might give up, won’t she?”

“No. If anything it’ll just make her more determined to find _something_.” Marinette huffed. “I can’t believe I was so _stupid_.”

“It was an accident. Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Yeah, but not everybody puts their partner’s _identity_ in jeopardy.” Marinette ran her fingers through her bangs. “I have to fix this. How do I fix this?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something! Everything will work out, I know it will.”

Marinette shot a tired smile at Tikki. “I hope so.”

“Marinette?” Tikki zipped out of sight as a Marinette’s mother poked her head through the trap door into Marinette’s room.

“Hey, _maman_ ,” said Marinette as casually as she could. “What’s up?”

“Your father and I were going to watch a movie, would you like to join us?”

“Sure, be down in just a minute!” She smiled until her mother ducked out of sight and sighed. “I’ll think of something,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

“You always do,” said Tikki encouragingly, poking out from under a sheet.

Marinette patted her kwami’s head affectionately and climbed down from her loft, changing quickly out of her jeans into some flannel pajama bottoms. Sure, no sweat. Just try to derail the most determined investigator she’d ever met from her life’s work, no biggie. Like taking candy from a baby.

She’d have to tell Chat. She’d been planning on how to bring it up when he surprised her on the Eiffel Tower, but then things kind of spiraled out of control. She grimaced. Understatement of the year, right there. Still, she remembered the feel of his hands, the gentleness in his voice, the way he licked his lips, inches away from her own… Her heart was beating faster in spite of herself.

_‘That could be arranged, if you ask nicely…’_

Oh God, it had really happened, hadn’t it?

_‘I have a crush on Chat Noir.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a _roll u guys_
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter because boy howdy I'm just getting started.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which that unexpected sideplot I totally didn't plan is furthered.

Adrien was on cloud nine.

He was free to be Chat Noir once again, had a whole day off from any modelling obligations, and Ladybug... Well.

He’d hardly been able to sleep that night, not after the Eiffel Tower. What had started off terrible, a wonderful surprise turned sour, had _somehow_ morphed into something amazing — the hitching of her breath as he leaned in close, the quirk of her eyebrows and the devilish grin she struck him with over her shoulder… The image of her lithe body curving in _all_ the right places was forever ingrained at the forefront of his mind. It was hard to ignore the girl you loved kicking asses by your side day after day for years on end, clad in nothing but magical Spandex. It was another thing for her to draw attention to that fact on _purpose_.

He knew she was messing with him. That didn’t make yesterday any less incredible.

He told Nathalie not to disturb him — he was going to study in his room, he said, and brought up a plate of snacks with him from the kitchen for appearances’ sake — and immediately slipped out the window to take in one of the last sunny days of the year in the best way he knew how.

Chat had no particular destination in mind, parkouring his way over the rooftops of Paris. Fall was here in force, the air crisp as it breezed through his hair. A few civilians cheered at his passing as he pole-vaulted across the street, and he threw them a grin and a two-fingered salute as he sailed past. Today was going to be a good day.

He was running parallel to the Seine when he heard a small shriek, too quiet to be a cause for alarm but too distressed to be casual, and he perked up his ears and paused. It was a lazy mid-morning, and not a whole lot of people were out and about. A quick scan of the area didn’t reveal anything noteworthy, but he picked up the steady stream of low grumbling that followed, too faint for normal hearing but just audible enough for Chat. He jogged the length of the roof he’d been perched on, rounding a cluster of chimneys, and stopped.

He hadn’t even realized he was only a block away from the Dupain-Cheng bakery, and there was none other than Marinette herself on her rooftop balcony, peering over the railing with an annoyed look on her face. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

He hesitated. Marinette was still struggling to stay in the same room as him, although she’d been trying. Things were slowly — very slowly — beginning to patch up between them, but it was still awkward. Adrien didn’t want to push. But Chat… Chat could talk to her.

And here was the perfect opportunity.

“Hey, Princess,” he grinned, landing lightly on the railing near her.

She jumped. “Chat!” she yelped, her cheeks suddenly pink. “I mean, Chat Noir! What are you—”

“Spied a damsel in distress and couldn’t help myself. Need a hand?”

She grimaced and glanced down at the ground, three stories down. “I dropped my pencil case,” she said.

Chat glanced down, the tiny tube of bright floral cloth lying innocently on the pavement. “Uh… May I ask how that happened?”

She sighed. “I came up to draw and forgot I needed to water my plants… It’s a long story.” She straightened up, rolling her shoulders, and smiled brightly. “No biggie, just four flights of stairs, as long as nobody steals it while I’m inside.”

Chat chuckled. “Hold that thought,” he said, and dropped off the railing.

Marinette shrieked when she realized what he was doing, but he landed easily on the ground and picked up the pencil case. He gave it a light dusting and glanced back up, waving his prize cheekily. “You stupid — you could have broken your legs, you know that?” she yelled down at him. He only grinned in reply, extending his baton to rise gently up to her level again.

“Your pencils, mademoiselle,” he purred.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” she said, but took the case from him and smiled. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” He settled back on the railing in a crouch, slipping his baton into his belt again. “So, what are you drawing?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Nothing special,” she said. “You know, if you’re going to stay, you don’t have to _perch_ like that. I have chairs, y’know. Or _solid ground_.”

He blinked. “Oh,” he said, gingerly slipping onto the balcony itself. “Right, sorry.” He hesitated, but decided against moving closer and instead leaned back casually against the railing. Marinette stood next to him, watering her planter box, and he was hit with a sudden flashback. An image of himself in this exact same position, a girl with black pigtails on his left, although she’d been doing completely different things with her hands…

“Chat, are you okay?”

He swallowed hard and looked away quickly, willing the rising heat in his cheeks to fade. “Oh yeah, no, ’course I’m fine,” he said hurriedly. “So, what were you doing before your pencil case took an unscheduled swan dive?”

“Oh, uh, nothing in particular.” She set down her watering can. “I doodle to help myself think.”

“Got a lot on your mind?” he asked casually.

She hesitated. “I guess you could say that,” she said carefully, picking up her sketch book.

“Anything I can help with?” She looked up in surprise and he grinned, suddenly glad she didn’t know who he was and therefore was unable to see through this completely transparent bit of self-indulgence. “I’m an awfully good listener.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” she said, a little too quickly. A little too loud. “Just, y’know, boy stuff.” She tittered nervously. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Well,” he said, careful to sound as off-handed as possible, “I just so happen to be a boy, you know. I might be able to help.”

“I…” She paused, a faint blush turning her cheeks pink again. “It’s kind of personal,” she said quietly. “And no offence, but we don’t really…” She gestured vaguely at the space between them. “I mean,” she added hurriedly, “I’m, like, super-flattered you offered, that’s really nice of you and all, but…”

“Oh,” he said, catching himself. “Right, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Internally he was kicking himself. This was exactly why he didn’t show up at Marinette’s house in the first place, after everything had gone to hell. They weren’t friends like this; she didn’t know him. Of course she wouldn’t spill out all her thoughts and fears to a complete stranger.

“No, you weren’t prying.” She sighed. “It’s just… it’s complicated.”

“I know the feeling.” Understatement of the year, right there. An image of Ladybug’s smirking face flashed in his mind. _‘How do you think I woke you up?’_ He flushed.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” Marinette waved a hand in front of his face and he snapped out of his reverie.

“What? Yeah, no, I’m doing swell.” He cringed inwardly. _Swell_ , really?

“You look a little warm.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He waved a hand as though he could brush it away. “Just running, superhero stuff.”

She furrowed her eyebrows with a look of concern on her face. “You should take it easy,” she said. “Don’t push yourself too hard.” He was struck by how Ladybug-like her voice was just then.

“No worries!” he assured her, striking a pose. “I’m perfectly fine, see?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled as she did so. “You should get going,” she said gently. “What will the tabloids think if they catch you sneaking onto girls’ balconies like this?”

“Don’t worry, Princess, I’m a perfect gentleman, I swear.” But he took the hint and hopped lightly onto the railing, unhooking his baton from his belt. He judged the distance between buildings and wondered if he could get away with backtracking over her chimney without looking like a complete idiot.

“Wait!” she said suddenly. He turned. She was chewing her lip, a strange expression on her face, and he was struck in that moment by how cute she looked. She had freckles on her nose — he hadn't noticed before. His chest twinged. _‘Oh, Marinette, why couldn’t you have waited?’_

“Yes?” he prompted when she didn’t say anything.

“Um, do you remember my friend Alya?” she asked. She sounded nervous. “The girl who runs the Ladyblog?”

He suppressed a smile. “Yeah, vaguely,” he said. “Red hair, glasses?”

“Yeah. Well, um, she had an, uh, _interesting_ tip the other day,” said Marinette, twiddling a loose lock of hair between her fingers. “About you.”

Chat paused, nonplussed. “Okay?”

“It said…” She inhaled deeply through her nose. “It said you were at the party the other night. At Le Grand Paris.”

His stomach dropped. _‘What the—? How…?’_ He struggled to keep his face impassive. “Oh really?” he said. His voice wavered a little too much for comfort.

“Yeah, I know it sounds silly, but she’s… really obsessed with the thought.” She looked almost embarrassed for some reason. “Since you’re here I thought… Well, I just figured, you and Ladybug wear masks for a reason, you know?”

“Yeah,” he said vaguely. How did this happen? Did someone see him? They couldn’t have, could they?

“I tried to get her to drop it, but you know Alya.” He stiffened in spite of himself but she was already backtracking, apparently without noticing his reaction. “I mean, obviously you don’t, of _course_ not, but like, once she has an idea about Paris’s resident superheroes she tends to go a little… crazy.”

“I see,” he said casually. “Well, thanks for letting me know.” He paused. “How did she hear that, by the way?”

“Oh! Um…” Marinette looked nervous again. “I don’t know, around? It came up in conversation and I thought you should know.”

“I see,” he repeated, although more to himself than to her.

“I’m sorry to bring it up like this,” said Marinette anxiously.

“No! No, that’s fine, I’m glad you told me actually.” Chat gathered himself and smiled at her, and she seemed to relax a bit. “Thank God I stopped by, right?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “thank God.”

“Well, I must be off.” He extended his baton and turned back to the apartment buildings he’d been regarding earlier. “Thanks again, Marinette.”

“Any time,” she said, and waved as he vaulted quickly across the street and disappeared from view of the bakery.

Once out of sight he nearly collapsed against a nearby chimney, legs shaking with adrenaline. How the hell did this happen? He was always so careful, but now…? He swore viciously under his breath. It must have happened after he went back to the hotel. Whoever had seen him must not have been close enough to see his face, but maybe someone saw him returning to the party, maybe caught the green light when he detransformed behind the bushes? Or maybe — he dropped his head in his hands and groaned — his stupid, impulsive choice of outfit as Adrien had one too many people scratching their heads. It wasn’t like Adrien and Chat Noir didn’t resemble each other; they were literally the same goddamn person.

He dug his claws into his scalp in frustration. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. He’d have to be more careful from now on. He could blame his hypothetical carelessness getting back to the hotel on the fact that he’d literally just passed out for a good five minutes beforehand, but nothing could change the simple idiocy of basically _cosplaying as his alter-ego on the red carpet_. There was actual _photographic_ _evidence_ of that now; he couldn’t take that back if he tried. He took a deep, calming breath. No biggie. He’d just have to never wear black and/or green out in public as Adrien ever again. With his father’s new line in the works, how hard could _that_ possibly be?

Okay, okay, he could fix this. Try and minimize the damage. He raked his fingers through his hair and stood up. No problem. Just a side trip to Alya’s house to start. She was by far the biggest obstacle in his way, the go-to gal for all your real-life superhero needs — if he could persuade her, somehow, to drop this, at least half of the problem would be gone already. He scanned the horizon to orient himself, and tried to remember the way.

He started running, hurdling over walls and rooftops with ease. He knew the basic area from here, at least. He hoped he didn’t knock on too many unsuspecting civilians’ houses trying to find the right one.

He tried not to think about how much she would freak out when he showed up. This was going to be hard enough already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to pretend I know where I'm going with this (and I mostly do), but I actually had no intention of including this sideplot and it just sort of Happened Anyway.
> 
> I hope my scrambling in the aftermath isn't too obvious.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alya makes several interesting discoveries.

Alya hadn’t seen daylight in two days.

Ever since Marinette had dropped the Chat Noir bombshell she’d spent every available second online, scouring every corner of the internet that even vaguely mentioned the superhero duo. Once Friday rolled around, she’d locked herself in her room to devote every waking minute to her cause. It was now Sunday, and she was no closer to an answer than she had been five days ago.

As promised, she hadn’t breathed a word about it to anyone, even though both Nino and her mother had been asking all sorts of prying questions. They had eventually given up, like they always did when they realized she was on a mission, but at this point she would almost have welcomed the distraction. This was by far the most exhausting, most _infuriating_ thing she’d ever done.

But by God she would see it through.

How Marinette had come across this theory was anyone’s guess — that was the first major problem. Not a single person had publicly mentioned Chat Noir and the benefit at the Bourgeois hotel in the same sentence, except of course in relation to the Akuma attack. It had to have come from literal word-of-mouth, but _where_? Who could she possibly have been talking to?

The guest list was completely unremarkable as far as swanky parties went. Magic identity-concealing powers aside, Chat Noir looked to be around Alya’s own age, and there were only a handful of people in the range of 16 to 25 that fit his description. That was assuming, of course, that whatever magic allowed him to literally destroy anything he touched didn’t change his appearance with the obvious exception of mask and ears. She was going off the chance that it didn’t. The alternative would make this way more of a clusterfuck than it already was.

Naturally, the most obvious candidate was Adrien Agreste himself. Marinette had always been quick to dismiss the theory, but Alya wasn’t so sure. He looked roughly the same height, green eyes, blond hair — she hadn’t seen him shirtless, but she couldn’t imagine a life-long model wouldn’t be in excellent shape, and Chat Noir’s getup left very little to the imagination. He didn’t help his case by wearing Chat’s signature colors that night either; he may as well have neon lights screaming “I’M A SUPERHERO” draped all over him instead of Chloé goddamn Bourgeois.

In theory, anyway.

Lord knew she had Chat Noir pictures for days, and Adrien had his own freaking Wikipedia page. When she looked at pictures of one and then the other, the image in her mind was ridiculously clear — any idiot would have been able to see the obvious similarities. And putting pictures next to each other, viewing certain features in isolation it was almost painfully obvious; the same hardening jawline, the quirk of Chat’s signature smirk mirrored in certain Agreste photoshoots. But looking at both pictures side by side… It was like a fog came over her perception, and _somehow_ , even though a part of her _knew_ there were too many coincidences to be ignored, she found herself doubting.

She’d tried Photoshopping on a hunch, but everything she tried ended up _wrong_ somehow, even though she knew she’d spent enough time editing to be able to pull off the simple photo manipulation she was now struggling with. Any attempt to touch up a picture of Chat Noir took forever to load — so long, at one point, that she thought her computer had crashed — and the result was always _off_ , like it wasn’t really a picture of Chat at all. It looked more like a bad cosplay, even though the thing had started out a candid shot of the real deal. In a fit of frustration, after several consecutive hours of this infuriating wrestling match with the software, she spent a good forty-five minutes manipulating Chat’s eyes and mask onto one of Adrien’s edgier modeling pictures.

The effect was as though she’d spent all of five seconds cutting and pasting in Microsoft Paint.

The worst part that even on these manipulated pictures, bits viewed in isolation practically screamed at her that she was on the right track. Covering half of Adrien’s face with Chat’s eyes was convincing evidence, but drop two fingers off her screen and the haze was back, making the space behind her eyes pound if she looked at it for long, making her wonder — independent of the pain — if maybe she was on a wild goose chase. More than once she found herself minimizing browser windows on her laptop, wondering if maybe she should take a _little_ break, only to remember ten minutes later that she was in the middle of doing _something_ , she just couldn’t remember exactly _what_. She found herself rereading the same blog posts and being hit with a strong sense of déjà vu, or going to manipulate a picture in Photoshop only to discover she already had the picture saved and opened in another window. She was going around in maddening circles, and couldn’t figure out why.

It was probably some sort of magical bullshit, but who had time for that?

She watched hours worth of Akuma footage she’d posted to the Ladyblog, giving up on the Photoshop angle for a while, combing over every frame of the precious few interviews she’d managed to snag in the aftermath. Most of them were focused on Ladybug, of course, and she had cursed her tunnel vision when it came to the spotted heroine more than a few times during the past week. She made a vow to herself that she would try to add more Chat to the mix in the future, but obviously that was exactly zero help to her _right now_.

She tried to isolate soundbites, listening to him say the few solitary sentences she’d managed to find with as little background noise as possible, but as soon as she divorced the audio from the visual the voice became garbled, one file even insisting it was corrupted when she tried to open it and forcing her to restart her computer. When she played a video and closed her eyes instead, focusing on the sound, she heard everything just fine, but it was also like the volume in her head was muted when she tried to play the memory back. Not just Chat’s either; she remembered every word of what they were saying but both Chat Noir and Ladybug’s voices sounded like a silent movie — the abstraction of text was all there, but the imagined sound was gone. There may as well have been tinkling piano music in the background. Maybe she could hire someone.

Clearly whatever gave them their masks and superpowers also affected the imprints they left behind. The implications behind whatever it was actually messing with her brain were concerning and fascinating in their own right, and were she in a better state of mind she might have regarded this discovery with interest, but as of this moment all it was doing was giving her a headache.

She wanted to rant to Nino as she sometimes did in the middle of a particularly frustrating project, but she’d _promised_ Marinette she wouldn’t say anything, and she was nothing without her word. Speaking of Marinette, Alya wasn’t sure whether she wanted to interrogate the girl or strangle her, but if this kept going the way it was going she was going to do one or the other and at this point she wasn’t entirely sure which to do first. She took off her glasses and polished them furiously. She was going to get to the bottom of this if it killed her.

When something tapped on her window she didn’t notice it at first, focusing on taking a crack at audio isolation again. When she heard it, she dismissed it as a bird or something. Whatever, she had slightly more pressing matters to attend to. But it came again, insistently this time, and that wore her already thin patience to a breaking point. She glanced in the direction of her windows, but had forgotten she’d drawn the curtains. She pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. _‘What the fuck is…?’_ She was too tired and pissed off to finish the thought, much less cross the room to see what was going on, but then whatever it was tapped a fourth time and she slammed her laptop shut, just about ready to clobber whatever dim-witted pigeon was bashing its brains out on the glass.

The last thing she expected when she threw open the curtains was a sheepish-looking Chat Noir, perched on the end of his staff three stories off the ground.

“Oh thank God,” said his muffled voice through the glass.

She opened the window, bewildered. “ _Chat Noir_? What the hell…?” she asked, trailing off.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, knocking on windows like a complete idiot. Twelfth time’s the charm, right?” He grinned, but there was something strained about his demeanor — although that could have just been effort from keeping himself balanced for who knows how long. He glanced behind her into her empty room. “D’you mind? I mean, can I come in? Not to sound like a jerk, but my legs are cramping up and I need to talk to you. It’s kind of important.”

“I — yeah, sure, o-of course,” she stammered and stepped aside.

He looked relieved and clambered awkwardly over her windowsill, retracting his baton and stretching. “Thanks,” he said. He looked around. “Nice place.”

“Uh, thanks?” It came out sounding a little more like a question but she didn’t care, more concerned with the presence of the bona-fide superhero she’d spent the past week obsessing over standing in her room, about two feet away from her dirty laundry basket.

“Sorry to barge in on you like this,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“No worries,” she said, although eyeing him warily all the same. “What’s up?”

“Oh, right, well…” He hesitated, looking a little embarrassed. “I heard a rumor recently, and word has it you’re the girl to talk to.”

This was interesting. “Really?” she asked rhetorically. “What sort of rumor?”

“Well, it’s about me, actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I know this sounds stupid, but apparently some model at a party was wearing a suit inspired by yours truly and the rumor mills have been going haywire.”

Oh. _Oh_. Alya’s inner reporter writhed with glee. Marinette _had_ been on to something after all. “I might have heard something about that,” she said casually.

He quirked a grin at her. “Thought you might,” he said. “Love your Ladyblog, by the way. Good stuff. Very flattering.”

She swelled with pride in spite of herself. “I try,” she said, preening a little.

“But anyways, about that…” He looked serious again. “I just… I wanted to know how much you’ve heard.”

Alya hesitated for only the briefest of moments. “Not much more than you, it seems,” she said.

He looked a little surprised. “Really?” he said. “With all your connections?”

“Hand to God,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

He shifted his weight uncomfortably from leg to leg. “Look,” he said, “I don’t mean to be a douche, but some of the things going around… I mean, I don’t know who told you I was there that night, or where that rumor came from, but it’s all getting a little too close for comfort, you know what I mean?”

“What, are you saying you were actually there?” She folded her arms and eyed him shrewdly.

“No! That was a poor choice of words. Um…” It was odd, seeing him like this — without the charming swagger, strutting in front of the cameras. He looked so much younger, surrounded by her old socks and forgotten dishes from midnight snacks long past, almost like the teenager she was now so sure he was. His body language was completely different. It was like he was a totally different person.

“Yes?” she prompted when he didn’t say anything.

He exhaled, less letting out a casual breath and more like he was preparing for battle. “Okay,” he said, “let’s just cut to the chase. What I mean is, all this speculation is going to get pretty intense if this goes any further, alright? People have been throwing theories around since we showed up, but with an actual, plausible lead for once this could draw a lot of unwanted attention. Ladybug and I… we wear masks for a reason. If people who aren’t supposed to know find out who we are, it could get very ugly, very quickly.” He glanced at her apprehensively. “You see where I’m going with this, right?”

Alya did, and she didn’t like it. She leaned back on the nearest wall, arms still folded. “Uh-huh.”

“And no disrespect, but people like you are scary. You know how to dig, and you’re good at it. And that can be dangerous, especially for a blog as big as yours.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What I’m trying to say is, I might be a superhero, but you hold a lot of power right now, and I am asking you to please consider… well, _not_ doing what you, um, do,” he finished lamely.

Alya considered this for a moment. On the one hand, the feeling she was closing in on something big was stronger than ever. If Chat Noir himself swooped into her bedroom to tell her to back off, there had to be more to this than what she’d uncovered so far. She was so close she could almost taste it. She almost considered telling him to fuck off – in much nicer terms, of course, she was a _fan_ , after all – but then she caught his eye.

He looked smaller somehow. Nervous. He looked like he was about five seconds away from begging her on bended knee, and trying very hard not to show it. For all his posturing in public, Alya had the strange feeling she was seeing the real Chat Noir, the kid behind the mask, and she didn’t like it. Not that this side was necessarily _bad_ , just _wrong_. Like seeing a dog on its hind legs or a shaved rabbit. She felt sorry for him.

She had also failed to consider his very valid point. He and Ladybug were superheroes; ergo, there must be a supervillain, A.K.A. Hawkmoth and his seemingly endless army of Akumas. The Akumas always howled about Chat and Ladybug’s “Miraculous” — Miraculi? — and from what she had pieced together, they were the sources of the duos power or something. Knowing the people behind the masks could put them in a very vulnerable position.

“Fine,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll keep it off the Ladyblog.”

He looked so relieved she almost felt guilty for her behavior the past week. “Oh thank God,” he said, deflating a little.

“On one condition.”

“Anything,” he answered instantly.

“Exclusive interview, not after an Akuma. In your downtime, or whatever it is you call it when you’re running around without anybody’s ass to kick.”

“Of course. You wanna do it right now?”

His eagerness threw her off a little. “What? No, just… I don’t know, swing by one weekend you’re not busy, I guess.”

“Okay, awesome!” He beamed at her. This was even more disconcerting than the twitchy Chat from moments before. She wasn’t sure which one she preferred.

“No problem.”

“Hey, I know this is a huge sacrifice for you,” he said, quieter now. “I just… Thank you. Really.” He turned to leave and was halfway out the window when she stopped him.

“Wait.” He looked back at her and she groaned inwardly, almost hating herself for what she was about to do next. She opened her laptop and X-ed out of the more embarrassing Operation: Unmasking-related windows before motioning for him to come join her. “There’s something you should see.”

He looked on in awe as she explained in broad strokes what she had discovered. She left out her more cringe-worthy Photoshop experiments on Adrien’s face, focusing instead on her attempts to edit Chat himself, and the weird audio malfunctions. “That’s… Wow,” he said as she wound down.

“I don’t know if you can tell the same way I can,” she said, “since you already know who’s behind the mask and all, but I get a headache from even looking at the edits for too long and trying to listen to the video without looking at it makes my brain go all fuzzy. It’s weird.”

“No, I — I _kinda_ see it?” He cocked his head and squinted at one of the edits, an attempt to airbrush the mask off his face. “It’s kind of like there’s two pictures, the one in front of me and the one in my head.”

“Exactly!”

“You’re right, that _is_ weird.” He sat back and marveled at her. “This is incredible, Alya.”

She felt that slight swelling of pride again. “Thanks,” she said.

“This… Yeah, this is good.” He stood up. “No, this is _excellent_. I need to tell Ladybug about this.” He let out a low whistle. “Well _that_ just took a load off my mind.”

“Glad I could be of assistance.”

Chat grinned and it was like a switch had been flipped. Suddenly the very room seemed to ooze with the confidence that only a guy who wore a leather catsuit on a daily basis could possibly possess. “I should probably make like a tree.”

“Yeah, yeah, get outta here,” she said, not unkindly.

His grin widened and he slipped through the open window like a shadow, a catlike grace in his movements that definitely hadn’t been present when he arrived. Pausing on the windowsill, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “When should I come for that interview you wanted?”

She shrugged. “Surprise me.”

“Can do.” He winked. “Later, Red.” And with that, he was gone.

Suddenly alone again, Alya didn’t quite know what to do with herself. She set her computer aside, considered for a moment, then pulled it back into her lap. Going right back into the fray right after he left seemed rude somehow, untrustworthy, but his visit had triggered a newfound zeal deep within her. She was onto something, and she didn’t want to let it go. Besides, she’d only promised not to post anything online, and she wouldn’t. In fact, she’d work twice as hard to discourage anyone else from straying too close to the truth — whatever that truth was. But something was fishy, and she was going to find out what. She wasn’t doing this for the Ladyblog anymore; she was doing this for _her_.

That wasn’t the same as lying, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me way back in chapter 6: hey i probably won't be updating very often anymore, just a heads-up  
> me now: hey shitheads i've updated 5 times in 4 days also here's another chapter 12 hours after the last one lol
> 
> I have no idea where this drive to write is coming from. Somebody pinch me I must be dreaming.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is Girl Bonding™.

The movie playing on Alya’s laptop was an action-packed American thriller, but Marinette struggled to pay attention. Huddled together on her bed with the lights out on a Sunday night, it should have been a relaxing evening with her best friend, but there was a definite air of awkwardness in the atmosphere between them and she was 99% sure it was her fault. Regret wouldn’t fix this, but she’d been a horrible friend to everyone around her since September and the feeling crept up on her anyway.

She glanced at Alya out of the corner of her eye. She who usually couldn’t shut up about cinematography was unusually silent, staring blankly at the screen in front of them. She’d been distracted when she showed up for their movie night and something made Marinette feel deep down like she didn’t actually _want_ to be here. She seemed preoccupied with something.

She couldn’t take it. She had to say something.

“Hey, Alya?” she began tentatively.

“Hmm?”

“Are you… okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Alya waved a hand vaguely.

Marinette paused the movie in the middle of an explosion. “You know you can talk to me, right?” she said. “You seem really distracted… If you don’t like the movie, we can watch something else? Or talk, we haven’t done that in a while.”

Alya grinned unexpectedly. “You’ll never believe me if I told you.”

“Try m—”

“Chat Noir came to visit me today.”

Marinette choked on her popcorn. “ _What_?” she coughed hoarsely.

“I _know_ , right?” That familiar fiery passion was back and it was like her best friend had returned from wherever she’d been the past few hours, her eyes blazing. “He just showed up at my house, isn’t that crazy?”

“What…” Marinette cleared her throat. “What did he want?”

Alya’s eyes glinted in the harsh light of the laptop screen. “It seems a certain baker’s daughter had some good info,” she said slyly, barely-contained excitement creeping into her voice. “He figured it out and — get this — came to tell me to back off!” She waited expectantly, but Marinette didn’t quite know how to react to that.

“And?” she instead prompted carefully.

“What do you mean, _and_?” Alya clutched her arm. “Marinette, this is _huge_. Don’t you see? If _Chat Noir_ himself is telling me to drop it, well, I’m onto something big. _We’re_ onto something big,” she corrected herself. “Don’t think I forgot where I got the tip-off in the first place.” She huffed. “I wish I knew where you heard it, though. As a journalist, I _totally_ get the whole protecting your sources thing, but I couldn’t find _anything_ online when I looked. And believe me, I _looked_.”

Marinette tittered nervously. “You know,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound quite so shaky out loud, “I don’t even remember where I heard it. For all I know I could have made it up myself.” Alya blinked at her and she babbled on, “You know, like, I’d been obsessing over those pictures of Adrien and I hadn’t gotten any sleep either, so—”

“Don’t be silly, Marinette,” Alya said, cutting her off. “Weren’t you listening? Chat freakin’ _Noir_ basically admitted there was something to this whole thing. Clearly there are other people who think there’s something to it.”

Marinette’s blood ran cold. “He _admitted_ it?” she repeated breathlessly. “What did he say?”

Alya pursed her lips. “He said the investigation was hitting too close to home, but then he backtracked and said that he only meant it could draw unwanted attention. From Hawkmoth, obviously. Normally I’d read a little more into his phrasing but…” She shook her head. “You should have seen him, Mari, it was weird. He looked nervous, I’ve never seen him like that before. _Ever_. It was like he wasn’t Chat Noir at all, just a kid in a mask.”

Marinette’s pulse was going uncomfortably fast. On the one hand, it was her fault he was there in the first place. When she told Chat earlier that day about Alya’s plan — carefully leaving her own involvement out of it — she’d regarded him stopping by as a stroke of luck once she’d slowed her heartrate at the sight of him perched on her balcony. She hadn’t expected the silly cat to immediately run to interrogate the source.

At the same time, an unwarranted and completely unexpected twinge of _jealousy_ danced at the edge of her mind. She knew him better than anyone, but here was Alya telling her about a side of him she’d never seen. No matter how close they were, he was always Chat Noir around her and nobody else. It was hard to remember sometimes that he had a life outside of the time he shared with her.

 _‘That’s my own fault,’_ she reminded herself, but shoved the thought away. Now was not the time for internal debates.

“So are you going to?” she said aloud. “Drop it, I mean.”

Alya stared. “Are you crazy?” she asked rhetorically. “Of _course_ not!”

“But if Chat thinks it’s a big deal…”

“Oh, I’m not going to _post_ it anywhere,” she said, as if the fact was obvious. “I promised I wouldn’t. I’m not heartless, you know. It’s a valid point, him and Ladybug being exposed if their identities became public knowledge. I’m doing this for _me_.”

That didn’t reassure Marinette in the slightest. “Don’t you think you count among people who aren’t supposed to know?” she countered.

“Well I’m not gonna _do_ anything with his identity,” Alya scoffed. “What, you think I’m gonna find out and then run off to tell Hawkmoth? I’m not stupid. I run the biggest, most informative Ladybug and Chat blog in the _country_. If anything, I _should_ know. I could field off suspicion if people in the forums got a little nosy.”

“But what about Lady Wifi?” Marinette bit her lip immediately after the words left her mouth and they hung there, heavy in the silence.

“It’s been almost three years,” said Alya finally, carefully. “I know it happened twice, but…”

“No, I know, Alya. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” Marinette scooted closer, swallowing her guilt without success. “That wasn’t fair.”

“I know you didn’t mean it.” Alya sighed. “And you’re right, I didn’t even think about… her. Maybe I _should_  back off.” She removed her glasses and polished them absently on the hem of her t-shirt. “But I’m _so close_ , Mari. I know I am.”

“Maybe… maybe you could just, I don’t know, lay off for a while, at least?” Marinette suggested gently. “I know it’s important to you, but you’re going to run yourself into the ground like this. And if Chat thinks it’s important…”

“Yeah, I guess.” Alya shrugged and laid her head on Marinette’s shoulder. “He promised me an interview to drop it.”

“Really? That’s great!” said Marinette encouragingly, fingers running soothingly through Alya’s curls. “When?”

Alya snorted. “I told him to _surprise me_. He winked and called me ‘Red,’ can you believe it?”

Marinette giggled fondly. “That’s better than ‘Princess,’ though.”

“ _Right_ , I forgot he called you that.” Alya peered up at her over her glasses. “Speaking of which…” She let the sentence trail off with a pointed look.

Marinette felt her cheeks heat up in spite of herself. “What?” she asked defensively.

“Don’t give me that, you know what I’m talking about.”

She looked away. “Quit it,” she muttered without conviction.

“Nuh-uh, _spill_. It was written all over your face when you tipped me off.” Alya ducked her head to meet Marinette’s eyes. “You _like_ him,” she accused in a sing-song voice.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Marinette protested, blushing furiously. “He’s hot and calls me ‘Princess,’ what more do you want?”

“Aha, I _knew_ it!” crowed Alya triumphantly. She paused mid-cheer. “Wait, you said _calls_. As in _present tense_.”

Oh crap. “No, I didn’t!” she said hurriedly. “Called! He _called_ me ‘Princess!’ As in used to! The couple of times we met in person, which was years ago!”

“No, no, no, don’t you _dare_ ,” chastised Alya knowingly. “You said ‘calls,’ come on, hit me.”

“I just might,” muttered Marinette, but her ears were burning so fiercely there was no point in denying any more. “Okay, _fine_ , I saw him today.”

“ _Today_?” Alya squinted owlishly in the dark. “Oh my God, you _tipped him off_ , didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t! I swear!” lied Marinette through her teeth. “He must have been on his way to visit you when he saw me. He got my pencil case for me.” Alya furrowed her brow in confusion. “I dropped my pencil case off my balcony,” she explained, embarrassed. “He was passing by and got it off the sidewalk for me.”

“Why was your…? Oh, never mind, I don’t wanna know.” Alya wiggled gleefully. “Oh my God, that’s a meet-cute if I ever heard of one. Or it would be if you hadn’t already met before. Whatever. Okay, what else?”

“I… He asked me what I was drawing, because I said I doodle when I’m stressed out.”

“Did you show him?” Alya flopped backwards onto the pillow nest they had made against the wall. “I can see it now, Mari-Chat bonding over fashion sketchbooks.”

“ _Mari-Chat_?”

“You _have_ to have a ship-name,” said Alya matter-of-factly. “Don’t you remember ‘Adrienette,’ back in collège? Or, my personal favorite, _Ladynoir_ , the ship to end all ships.” She glanced sideways at Marinette’s bewildered expression. “ _That’s_ endgame material if I ever saw it, you mark my words. If you and him don’t work out, obviously, I’m nothing if not Team Marinette.”

Marinette felt a surge of gratitude towards the past her of fifteen minutes ago, who hadn’t bothered turning on the lamp after pausing the movie, because now there was no possible way Alya could see exactly what shade of crimson she was _definitely_  turning from the tips of her ears all the way down her neck. _‘Imagine her face,’_ she thought, _‘if she knew Ladynoir and Mari-Chat are the same thing.’_

“Anyways, what happened next? You’re killing me here. Did you show him your designs? I bet he was impressed.”

“No, I didn’t. He asked what was bothering me.” Her heart fluttered vaguely at the memory. He was so _nice_. “He offered to help with my _boy problems_.”

“ _Oooh_!” Alya waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“Not like _that_!” shrieked Marinette, swatting Alya’s shoulder, who only laughed.

“What did you tell him? Did you _bond_?”

“Of course not! I barely know the guy, what was I supposed to tell him? ‘An internationally-famous model who goes to my school rejected my advances so now I have a rebound crush on the equally-famous, skin-tight-leather-wearing furry on my balcony’? Not likely.”

“I think he might object to being called a furry, but I see what you mean.” Alya hummed thoughtfully as Marinette laid down next to her, and they contemplated the skylight above them in silence. “How’s that going, by the way?” she asked eventually. There was no need to clarify what she meant.

“Better,” sighed Marinette. “Not good, but better, at least.”

“You seem better,” agreed Alya. “I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time.”

“No, you were totally right, I was being self-absorbed. It wasn’t fair to you, or Nino, _or_ Adrien.” Marinette nestled closer and Alya stroked her hair absently, the loose hair free from pigtails for once and curling around her face. “I was wallowing for too long. It’s time to grow up.”

“And grow up you have,” said Alya sagely. “Chat Noir is about as R-rated as you can get in the public eye. Do you think he’s a top or bottom? I mean, he _looks_ like a dom, but the way Ladybug orders him around, I bet he’s a _total_ sub—” She shrieked with laughter as Marinette tried to smother her with one of the pillows.

Alya left not too long after that — “It _is_ a school night,” Mrs. Cheng reminded them gently but firmly — but Marinette felt lighter than she had in a while. She felt the cloud on their friendship from her behavior the past few months had finally lifted, however slightly, and maybe now Alya would relent in her constant search for Chat’s identity, at least for a little while. It felt good to protect her partner in some small way, even out of costume. And she hadn’t realized how much she missed general _girl talk_. Gushing about her newly discovered crush was embarrassing, certainly, and she couldn’t dish the whole story, but she had this. That would have to be enough for now.

She kissed her parents goodnight, but she had no intention of going to bed. Back in her room, she waited half an hour before quietly summoning Tikki, transforming soundlessly into Ladybug and slipping onto the roof.

It was hard to believe Chat had been _right here_ only a few hours before. She nearly had a heart-attack when he landed on her railing. The guy was like a shadow. She’d have to scold him about sneaking up on people at some point. She ran her fingers gently on the wrought iron and smiled, cheeks flushing as she remembered how the corners of his mouth quirked up when he called her ‘Princess.’ He’d only done it twice, but it made her stomach flutter each time. It was kind of stupid, when she thought about it, how quickly she’d gone downhill after that initial realization — could it seriously have only been last night?

Well, it was only a crush, anyway. It wasn’t like she was in love with him or anything. This was just… nice. She’d missed having a reason to daydream.

She hugged herself in the dark, remembering the way he smiled at her before he left, even though he didn’t know who she was. He was a flirty guy, she knew it didn’t mean anything, but it was a pleasant memory all the same. The playful look in his eyes, the way the weak autumn sun glinted off his hair. _‘Thanks again, Marinette,’_ he smirked before he vanished over the rooftops. She liked the way her name sounded on his tongue.

Wait.

She paused mid-reverie, blinking slowly in the moonlight. _‘He called me Princess,’_ her own voice echoed in her mind, _‘years ago.’_

Ladybug saw Chat every day. Marinette didn’t.

_‘How the heck did he remember my name?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Let's get those last few passengers off the pain-train before we get to the good stuff, shall we?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I unapologetically toss in a filler because I am the worst.

Chat looked all over Paris for Ladybug without success as soon as he left Alya’s place, pausing occasionally to attempt to call her via whatever-you-called that communicator thing embedded in his staff. She wasn’t picking up. Of course not. She had a life, one that didn’t revolve around him. He’d just have to wait until tonight, then. Oh joy. _‘Home it is, then,’_ he thought glumly.

He did a quick recon of the area around his house before slipping in through the window in his bedroom he’d left cracked. As soon as his feet touched the floor he was Adrien again. Plagg swirled lazily through the air and draped himself over a couch cushion in a dramatic swoon. “So… _hungry_ …” he moaned pitifully, although peeking through a slitted eyelid to make sure his chosen noticed slightly spoiled the effect.

Adrien hushed him. He crept over to the door and listened intently. Nathalie’s voice, slightly agitated, was echoing faintly down the hall, but getting closer every second. She sounded like she was heading straight for him. He scrambled, stuffing some of the drier, less crumbly foodstuffs from his long-forgotten snack plate under some pillows to make it look like it had been touched and grabbing the first textbook he saw before hurling himself onto the couch. Plagg squawked indignantly at being jostled from his lamentations so rudely, but swooped out of sight a split-second before Nathalie barged in without knocking.

“Adrien?” she said sharply, when she didn’t immediately spot him.

“Oh, hey, Nathalie,” he said offhandedly, sitting up from what he hoped had been a casual lounging position. “Didn’t hear you come in. What’s up?”

She was on the phone, and whoever was on the other end was talking sternly — and loudly — enough that she was almost imperceptibly cringing away from the BlackBerry she held a centimeter or so away from her face. “Your father,” she said in a strained voice, “wanted me to check on you.”

“Well, I’m here,” he said brightly. “Just studying some—” He glanced at the book in his hand, “—physics! Yup, good old _physics_.” He held the book aloft and grinned.

“That’s nice,” she said distractedly, and closed the door.

Adrien breathed a sigh of relief. “That was a close one,” he muttered, tossing the book aside. Two minutes later and his face would have been plastered all over the news in ten seconds flat.

“Yeah, yeah, where’s my cheese?” whined Plagg, crawling from his hiding place in the groove between seat cushion and arm rest and up one leg of Adrien’s jeans.

“Is that all you can think about at a time like this? We almost got _caught_ , Plagg! And more importantly,” and here Adrien poked his kwami square in what could only be described as his chest, “why didn’t you tell me about all this identity-hiding magical bullshit?”

“Does it really matter? You know now, don’t you?” said Plagg with disinterest. Adrien spluttered.

“ _Does it really_ — of course it matters!” he said indignantly. “You didn’t think that would be helpful information? _‘Oh, by the way, editing pictures of you gives mere mortals migraines! Hey, while we’re at it, sound files are magically corrupted and mess with people’s heads!’_ How could you not think I’d _maybe_ like to know something like that?”

“So the magic extends to digital imprints,” Plagg yawned. “I fail to see a reason to freak out about it.”

“I’m not freaking out!” Adrien half-yelled, and caught himself. “Plagg,” he continued at a slightly more normal volume, “this is _huge_! Kind of terrifying, but mostly huge! I’m not — _wasn’t_ freaking out for no reason, don’t you see what this _means_?”

“You don’t have to worry about somebody nosing around where they don’t belong, _yes_ , I _get_ it.”

“I can’t wait to tell Ladybug,” breathed Adrien. “She’ll be so—” He faltered. She’d probably be over the moon about it. He wasn’t really sure how _he_ felt about it, once he brought her into the equation, but brushed it off. When — _if_ — she was ready, she would tell him herself. This was a good thing.

“No wonder I could never figure out who she was on my own,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. There were certain things about her he’d picked up during their time together, mannerisms or a turn of phrase, that somehow seemed _familiar_ even when he was sure he’d never seen or heard her do it before, and now he knew why. That could be the magic giving him false leads. Or, maybe, he knew who she was. They may have met somehow over the years. Heck, she could even have gone to his _school_ and he wouldn’t have known, because she didn’t want him to. _‘Not yet, anyway,’_ he thought grimly.

The thought was both tantalizing and frustrating in equal measure.

He raked his fingers through his hair absently. “Why can’t it be night already?” he whined.

“Patience is a virtue,” said Plagg sagely.

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Speaking of which, where’s my cheese?”

“You’re impossible.”

Adrien tried to sit down and actually study to pass the time, but it was practically impossible to concentrate. Scenarios kept running through his mind of times he could have met Ladybug without knowing. She could have worked in a café where he had lunch with Nino, or a cashier at a grocery store somewhere. A model from a rival house? She was certainly gorgeous enough…

The hours crawled by. He checked the clocks every five minutes like a compulsion, until Plagg got impatient with his constant fidgeting. “Just go out and look for her, already,” he said in a voice that might have been a snap if he’d bothered to summon the energy for it.

“D’you even think she’d be out yet?” asked Adrien anxiously, peering out a window. It was dark, but you never knew with Ladybug.

“Isn’t she always?” said Plagg in a bored tone.

“True…” Adrien set aside the textbook he’d been staring at for the past half-hour without absorbing a word. “Claws out!”

Chat tried calling her again when he’d gotten a safe distance away from his house, and this time she answered. “Chat?” she said concernedly the second the call connected. “What’s wrong? Is there an Akuma?”

“What? No. Where are you?”

“Just off the Champs-Élysées, why?”

“Meet me on the Arc de Triomphe, I need to talk to you.”

“Wait, what’s—” she began but he’d already snapped the communicator shut, bounding over chimneys as fast as he could.

She was already there when he scrabbled up the massive stone structure, ignoring the pointing tourists. “Chat, what’s going on?” she demanded as soon as he was upright.

“We can’t be found out!” he panted, doubled over, clutching his knees for support. “The magic won’t let it happen!”

“Woah, woah, slow down. Sit,” she ordered in a motherly tone, and he flopped down next to her. She joined him in a cross-legged position, gentle hand on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be pushing yourself so hard,” she chastised. “Now, what are you talking about?”

“Okay, you remember Marinette? The girl who helped us with the Evillustrator a few years back?”

Her lips quirked at the corners, like she was suppressing a smile. “Yeah, what about her?”

“I ran into her earlier — long story — and she told me her friend, the Ladyblogger, well _she’d_ had a tipoff about…” He grimaced, embarrassed. “Well, about my identity.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah, something about a model? It’s not important, completely ridiculous.” He chuckled, hoping it was enough to mask his nervousness, although the babbling was sort of giving it away. “But I went to talk to her anyway, and she dropped it.”

“That’s good, but why did you have to race across Paris to tell me that?”

“That’s not the good part,” he explained. “Right when I was going to leave, she showed me something really weird.” He detailed everything Alya had told him, Ladybug’s eyes widening even further with every revelation. When he finished she sat back, stunned.

“That’s…” she said and stopped.

“I _know_!”

“I mean, it makes sense,” she continued, mostly to herself. “People I know in real life don’t look at me twice in costume, not even my own parents. Have you ever noticed anything like that?”

The thought of his dad even noticing his presence at all was hilarious. “Yeah.”

“Wow,” she said. “This is great! We still have to be careful, of course, but at least we don’t have to worry as much, right?”

“It’s nice to know there’s a back-up plan,” he agreed.

“Although I wonder why my kwami didn’t tell me,” she continued thoughtfully. “Yours didn’t either, I assume.”

Chat shrugged. “Plagg’s like that,” he said, almost apologetically.

“This changes everything.” She paused. “Well, not really, but kind of?”

“I know what you mean.”

“I’ll have to ask Tikki about it when I get home,” she murmured.

“Your… kwami?”

“Oh, right, I never introduced you,” she said sheepishly.

“That’s okay.” Chat glanced at Ladybug. “What’s she like? Or he, I guess.”

“She’s…” Ladybug pursed her lips. “She’s a bit like my mom, I guess.”

“Really?” Chat sat up, resting his chin on his knees. “Well, what’s your mom like?”

“Nice try, kitty,” she smirked, but hummed thoughtfully. “Tikki’s very encouraging,” she said finally. “She’s always pushing me to try my best, and calming me down when I freak out.”

“You, freaking out? I’d pay to see that.” She nudged him in the ribs, but playfully. “What do you freak out about that only your kwami can help you?”

Her cheeks went vaguely pink. “Just little things, like boys and stuff.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, Marinette, huh?”

“What about her?”

“That was… a while ago,” she said casually. “How did you even remember her?”

Chat grinned. “Don’t tell me my Lady is jealous,” he teased.

“Why would I be?” she huffed, but her cheeks were pink again. He wanted so badly to read into that fact, until a sudden gust of wind distracted him.

“Your hair,” he said in quiet awe.

Ladybug blinked. “My what?” She touched her head, confused.

“It’s…” Beautiful. Radiant. Stunning. “…Different.”

In the weird lighting around the monument he hadn’t noticed, he’d been too caught up in the magical revelations, but now the breeze was curling her loose hair around her face in gentle ringlets and he was mesmerized. She always wore pigtails, cute of course, but now she looked older, more mature, less endearing and more striking. Her hair wasn’t much longer than her shoulders, by a few centimeters at most, and framed her face in a way that highlighted her large, almond eyes and heart-shaped face. Her eyes looked bluer, her lips fuller.

He swallowed.

“Oh,” she said in vague surprise, fingering an errant lock. “I completely forgot to pull it back before I came out. Sorry, I probably look like a mess.”

“No, I… It looks good,” he said, his own voice sounding faint in his ears. “It suits you.”

“Really?” She looked doubtful but that faint blush was returning. “You think so?”

“Really,” he said. And then on a whim, before he could stop himself, “I really like it.”

Yup, she was definitely blushing now. “Th-thanks,” she mumbled, ducking her head a little, but he caught the tiny pleased smile she was trying to hide. She’d never stuttered before, not to Chat. It was doing something to his insides, but he wasn’t quite sure what.

“Hey, can I…?” He raised a hand, hesitant, but she remained perfectly still as he gently brushed a stray strand of that beautiful hair away from her face.

“Thanks,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. Her breathing was shallow, and his wasn’t much better. Time was slowing, the sounds of traffic below faint and inconsequential. She tentatively met his eyes. They really were the most incredible shade of blue.

It wasn’t until she cleared her throat softly that he snapped out of it, feeling his own face heat up. How long had they been staring at each other? How long had _he_ been staring? What a creep. “We should start our patrol,” she said quietly, that tiny smile still hovering just below the surface.

“Of course, right.” He stood and helped her up. Maybe his thumb accidentally brushed over her knuckles and maybe she pretended not to notice.

But he couldn’t help but smile when she showed up for the next patrol with her hair falling freely over her shoulders again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went a little crazy the other day and edited every single chapter up to this point. Nothing major, I promise, just adding or removing a word here, breaking up a paragraph there. Hopefully this fic reads a little smoother now. (I'm resisting the urge to rewrite the first three chapters completely.) ~~(It's fine.)~~
> 
> Took a couple days off from writing because of reasons. Nothing super-serious, but writing about hormonal teenagers in love wasn't high on my list of priorities, y'know? Anyway, I'm back now, probably.
> 
> Also, since it was asked for, I posted my Tumblr in the comments on the last chapter but if you were curious you can find me there at [ladyofpurple](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/) as well. My art blog and Instagram are in the sidebar too, if that's your jam.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I haphazardly toss this in because I have a plot to get to.

Fall edged smoothly into winter. Akumas had tapered off over the past few weeks, leaving Marinette free to focus on rebuilding her friendship with Adrien. It was slow, painful going, but maybe seeing Chat every night made each day slightly easier than the last. His reaction to her hair had been unexpected, but not unwelcome. She had always thought pigtails suited her better, anything else making her face too round or her eyes too wide-set, but he looked at her like he’d never seen her before and her stomach fluttered even thinking about it.

So she started experimenting.

Pigtails had been a staple of her wardrobe since she was ten years old, so the first time she showed up at school with her hair loose, a single barrette in the back pinning the sides away from her face, she was nervous. As it turned out, she needn’t have worried. If Alya’s repeated chorus of “ _Damn_ , girl!” and Nino’s appreciative nodding weren’t enough to convince her, Adrien’s wide-eyed pause when the group met for lunch was a good step in the right direction.

“Hey, dude, put your eyes back in,” teased Nino, sliding onto the bench next to him. Adrien gave a little start.

“Sorry, I just…” He shook his head. “You reminded me of someone for a sec.” He smiled. “You look really nice today, Marinette.”

Her heart twinged only a little bit this time.

It was getting easier to talk to him lately, her heartrate slowing instead of speeding up when he walked into a room, but it wasn’t the same as it used to be. There was a strange charge in the air when she was around him, not entirely awkward, but still vaguely uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure whether or not she was simply projecting, if he felt the same, so she endured it, and it lessened as days turned into weeks. It lessened slowly, to be sure, but progress had been made.

Then the article came.

Alya insisted on reading every single one of Adrien’s interviews and bought a copy of every magazine he had spreads in. It was a habit she picked up back in collège when Marinette did the same, but had eventually evolved into a form of support as they became friends, and which she had continued after Marinette stopped. She had carefully shielded Marinette from the contents of the magazines in the months following The Confession, until Marinette finally told her to stop worrying after their movie night — “I appreciate the gesture,” she’d said exasperatedly, “but I’m never going to get over this if I can’t even look at my friend’s pictures.” The word “friend” tasted sour in her mouth, but it was true. She couldn’t keep hiding from reality.

Alya stopped in a convenience store on the way back to school early one lunch period. “This is the issue, right?” she said, hovering over the magazine rack plastered in copies of _Teen Vogue_. “Oh, wait, I see it. _‘Adrien Agreste talks fashion, friends, and keeping it real.’_ Nice.”

“Catchy tagline,” snickered Nino.

“This’ll be good,” said Alya indulgently, digging in her wallet for spare change. “Oh shoot, I’m one euro short.”

Marinette opened her purse to find Tikki extending her a loose coin with an encouraging smile. She took it with a slight nod. “Here, Alya,” she said aloud.

“Oh, thanks, I owe you one.” She paid the man behind the counter with a sigh. “That’s what I get for splurging on take away.”

“It was your idea,” Nino reminded her.

“I never said it was a _good_ idea,” she countered.

“Let’s just get back to school before it gets cold,” said Marinette.

They rounded the corner and located a miraculously empty picnic table in a corner of the schoolyard. Despite being so close to Christmas, it was unseasonably warm out and surprisingly comfortable weather to eat outside in. Once seated, Alya immediately pulled the magazine from her bag, ignoring the cheeseburger Nino pointedly set in front of her.

“You’d think they’d get tired of doing all these ‘get to know me’ pieces,” she complained, flipping through the pages. “It’s all he seems to do these days.”

“I’ll be sure to tell his agent,” said Marinette drily. She picked listlessly at her salad. Adrien had told them to go ahead and buy lunch without him, but the break was almost over and he still hadn’t shown up. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that.

“Listen to this. _‘When not dominating the catwalk, the model turned teenage heartthrob prefers a quiet combination of hobbies to partying, including playing the piano and reading classic novels_.’” She rolled her eyes. “Didn’t he almost fail French in collège?”

“I don’t know, he likes Victor Hugo,” said Nino. “Although the ‘teenage heartthrob’ bit was a nice touch.”

“Blah, blah, _‘hard work and dedication,’_ blah… Oh.”

Marinette glanced over. “What is it?” Alya was staring down at the magazine, looking simultaneously like she was widening her eyes and squinting in disbelief.

“It’s… They’re just talking about Ladybug, but…” Alya furrowed her brow. “Whoever wrote this has some weird phrasing.”

“Let me see,” said Nino, scanning the article over her shoulder. He frowned. “Wow. Okay.”

“What?” Marinette flicked her gaze between them, curiosity getting the better of her. She didn’t really _want_ to read the article. She wasn’t _that_ much of a masochist.

Nino hesitated for only the briefest of moments before sliding the magazine across the table. She took it and tried to brace herself mentally before diving in.

The interviewer was clearly enamored by Adrien, or at least that was the effect she’d been trying to push to readers. The prose was flowery, painting an image of a romantic, sensitive soul who bore the burden of fame and good looks with reluctance and grace — true to a certain extent, she supposed bitterly, but not quite this over-the-top in reality. She skimmed the first page, ignoring the pictures. Baby steps.

The top of the second page broached the subject of Paris’s resident superhero-duo. It was only natural — practically every public figure in the country had been asked about them at one point or another, often more than once. She expected her heart to sink when the print reminded her forcibly of what he’d blurted out when she confessed to him. What she hadn’t expected was exactly how far.

Phrases like “softening eyes” and “wistful sighing” were used sparsely throughout the six paragraph detailing of Adrien’s opinions on the subject — six! — which only served to make them stand out more. The weight in the pit of her stomach grew heavier with each sentence. It was clear the interviewer had certain ideas about him. If only she knew.

“Mari?” said Nino, and Marinette jerked to attention.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. You’re right, really weird.” She smiled weakly and pushed the magazine back.

“Are you okay?” Alya asked concernedly.

“Fine, just…” Marinette picked at her salad again. “That woman should write for a tabloid or something.” She laughed half-heartedly.

Alya was eyeing her owlishly. “Yeah,” she agreed slowly, perusing the article again. “Not exactly Pulitzer prize-winning stuff.”

“Everyone and their mother has a crush on Ladybug,” said Nino conversationally. “What I find weird is how this woman’s trying to spin it like they’re star-crossed lovers or something.”

“Do they even know each other?” said Alya.

Marinette winced in spite of herself.

Alya, eyes like a hawk, caught it immediately. “Okay, what’s going on with you?” she asked.

“Nothing!” said Marinette hurriedly. “Everyone and their mother, right? She was probably trying to spice up the article, y’know? 13-year-olds eat that stuff right up.” Her voice was too loud again.

Even Nino was looking at her strangely now. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” said Alya in her well-worn Mom Voice. “What are you—?” She stopped. Squinted at the article. Stared at Marinette, who carefully avoided eye contact. “No.”

“What?” said Nino, looking between the two of them with a confused expression.

“Did he…?” She reread the paragraphs. “That’s ridiculous.”

“ _What?_ ” said Nino again, more insistently this time.

“Is he…? Nino, is he in love with Ladybug?” She didn’t sound accusatory, like Marinette expected, more like she couldn’t even believe the words coming out of her mouth.

Nino blinked. “Uh… How should I know? He likes the Ladyblog. What are you…?” He trailed off. “You’re not seriously implying…?” He snatched the magazine out of Alya’s hands.

Marinette darkly made a mental note to work on controlling herself better under pressure. She was resolutely staring at her salad, shoving it mechanically into her mouth and chewing as slowly as she possibly could to avoid speaking. When Alya had tried to get her to talk about the confession — and she always had a way of getting Marinette to open up sooner or later — the one thing Marinette had absolutely refused to mention was the Ladybug angle. She hadn’t mentioned him shooting her down like that at all, instead carefully implying that he was interested in someone else, but she didn’t know who, or even whether or not he actually did.

It would have been hard enough to explain why she’d had so much trouble getting over him if he shot her down over a celebrity — not to mention how embarrassing that would be for both of them. She wasn’t even sure if he’d been telling the truth, so she let it slide; no need to publicly shame the guy. Apparently, though, he _hadn’t_ been lying. At least, not entirely.

And she’d accidentally outed him.

She clung to the desperate hope they wouldn’t put two and two together. Then she remembered who she was dealing with.

When she looked up they were both staring at her. “What?” she said defensively, a last-ditch attempt to put them off the scent.

“If the lady in the article is… And you’re…” Alya furrowed her brow. “Did he…?”

Marinette feigned ignorance. “What are you talking about?” she said carefully.

“He didn’t… _reject you for Ladybug_ , did he?” Nino had to force the words out, looking more confused than ever.

“What? You guys, that’s ridiculous,” scoffed Marinette. “Who does that? Stalkers and weirdos, that’s who.”

“Marinette,” said Alya seriously, “you are, hands down, the worst liar I have ever met.”

“Who’s lying?” said Marinette loudly. “Listen to yourselves. Can you even hear how crazy that sounds? You said it yourselves, everybody has a crush on Ladybug, and this woman—” She waved the magazine in the air for emphasis, “—needs to go back to journalism school.”

“Alya is right,” said Nino faintly, “you are a terrible liar.”

“I’m not!” said Marinette heatedly.

“Looks like we’ll just have to ask him ourselves, then,” said Alya. Marinette spun around. Adrien was walking across the schoolyard with Chloé and Sabrina, but when he caught sight of them he waved brightly. Marinette did her best to fan him away as surreptitiously as she could, mouthing “ _No!_ ” as big as her mouth would go when he made his way towards them, but he only furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Look how close he was with Chloé,” she said desperately. “I bet he has a _huge_ crush on her! Did you see those pictures from the gala a couple of weeks ago?”

“Nobody,” said Nino decisively, “has a crush on Chloé.”

“You never know,” said Marinette wildly. “Maybe he hasn’t said anything because he knows we think she’s a huge b—”

“Hey guys,” said Adrien, and Marinette squeaked. “Am I… interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” said Alya. “In fact, we were just talking about you.” Marinette shot her a look that was equal parts a warning and terrified resignation, but she ignored it completely. “I just picked up this magazine with your interview in it.”

Adrien groaned. “Oh no, did they put those stupid jumping shots in?”

“No, no, the pictures were excellent.” Alya’s voice had a strange edge to it. “It was the writing we were more interested in.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Adrien looked perplexed. “Did I say something stupid?” He picked up the magazine, lying open on the table, and flicked through it.

“It was more the… phrasing.” Marinette buried her face in her hands but Alya plowed on. “When you were talking about Ladybug.”

Adrien glanced up at her. “…Okay?” he said, clearly confused.

“And that brought up some interesting implications,” she continued smoothly. “Especially when Marinette got her hands on it…”

“Alya, don’t,” pleaded Marinette.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Adrien looked between the three of them, eyebrows furrowed.

“Nino, stop her,” said Marinette, but Nino was strangely silent.

“ _Apparently_ ,” said Alya dangerously, “a certain superhero came up when Marinette here asked you out a few months back. Is that true?”

Adrien stood completely still, staring blankly at Alya who was looking back with a strange sort of defiant expression, seemingly daring him to deny it.

“I…” he said, and closed his mouth.

“He didn’t, I swear he didn’t,” said Marinette faintly, but her protests fell on deaf ears.

“That’s…” Nino adjusted his snapback. “I’m sorry, bro, but that’s fucked up.”

“But…” Adrien blinked. He looked so strange, blank, confused. Marinette’s heart ached.

“Why isn’t anybody listening to me?” yelled Marinette suddenly, and they all jumped. “He didn’t reject me for Ladybug!”

“But—” began Alya indignantly but Marinette cut her off.

“I was there!” she said angrily, getting to her feet. “It didn’t happen! You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” And with that she grabbed Adrien’s arm and hauled him off, leaving the magazine and their two friends staring after them.

Inside an empty hallway she collapsed against a locker, breathing heavily. Adrien stood next to her, looking windswept and utterly confused. “What the heck was that all about?” he asked faintly. “How did they—?”

“That journalist lady,” said Marinette hotly, “should work for a gossip magazine.”

“I think she used to work for _‘Public,’_ ” he said.

“Well, it shows,” said Marinette. “They started asking questions, and I…” She was shaking, although whether from embarrassment or anger she wasn’t sure. She slid to the floor, her hair billowing up in a puff around her.

He hesitated above her. “Can I…?”

She waved a hand vaguely. “It’s a free country.”

He sat down gingerly next to her, although leaving a respectable half-meter space between them. “You shouldn’t have had to do that,” he said softly.

“Yeah, well…” Marinette tossed her arms up in a helpless gesture. “What was I supposed to do? You saw them. I tried to head them off, I swear I did.”

“No, I… That was a shitty thing I said, and you had every right to throw me under the bus.”

She hugged her knees, refusing to look at him. “I kept pushing and didn’t let you say no. Of course you would use Ladybug as an excuse. I would.” She stared at the floor. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to let our friends go on a witch hunt.”

He was silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he said finally. “But that was still a terrible thing to say. I’m really sorry, Marinette. For everything.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “I shouldn’t have kept going. I babble when I’m nervous, but you were trying to let me down easy and I couldn’t shut up.” She shrugged lopsidedly, but her heart wasn’t quite in it. “And then I avoided you like the plague. _I’m_ the one who should be sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I will if you will.”

She raised her hands in defeat. “Ugh, _fine_.” A strange feeling of déjà vu itched in the back of her mind and she couldn’t figure out why. She glanced over at him. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin, and with his languid pose and green eyes the feeling of recognition blazed for a split second before fading just as suddenly, leaving her confused and disoriented. She shook her head to clear it.

“Are you alright?” he asked concernedly.

“I’m fine,” she said, although the memory niggled at the back of her mind, like she was forgetting something important. “It’s just—”

A sudden scream echoed from outside, a large tremor rattling the windows, and Marinette was on her feet before she even registered what was happening.

“Akuma?” said Adrien, standing beside her. Damn, the guy was quick.

“Probably,” she replied, hand reaching reflexively for her purse. Then she remembered she wasn’t alone.

“I should—” she began just as he said “I gotta—” with a thumb jabbing over his shoulder.

She hesitated. That stupid protective instinct didn’t want to leave him alone, but she couldn’t become Ladybug with him around. She made up her mind and started running. “Stay safe,” she yelled after him as he sprinted in the opposite direction.

He tossed a grin over his shoulder. “Always do,” he called back, then she rounded a corner and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out it's really hard to write fanfiction when you become obsessed with true crime podcasts. I'd apologize but that would imply I felt bad about it. ~~i do im sorry ive been neglecting yall apologetic fluff incoming probably~~
> 
> I was cringing so hard writing those interview snippets, mostly because I used to be obsessed with stuff like _Tiger Beat_ and _J-14_ and probably would have devoured that article when I was a wee lass. I had Jonas Brothers and Zac Efron posters _everywhere_. It was a dark time.
> 
> Also I ran into the chick my ex tried to dump me for at a party the other night and had some very interesting revelations. We're Facebook friends now. Isn't girlpower the best?


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I update twice in one day and I remember why I don't write action sequences.

Ladybug was distracted. She turned up a few minutes after Chat did, and immediately skidded on the fresh patches of black ice coating the asphalt of the schoolyard. He barely caught her in time. “ _Ice_ of you to drop in,” he quipped.

She groaned. “Never speak again.”

The Akuma had turned the surrounding streets into a frozen tundra, snow swirling everywhere. Chat had only been out a few minutes and already his nose was running from the cold. Ladybug had snowflakes in her eyelashes. “Okay, what’s the plan?” he said, setting her on her feet and forcing himself not to stare.

“I don’t know, I just got here. Have you spotted his object yet?”

Chat scanned the Akuma, who was perched on top of the school and seemed more concerned with coating everything he could reach in icicles. “I think it’s his glasses,” he said.

“They look more like goggles to me.”

“Whatever! Go left?” She nodded and they split.

Chat scaled the building with ease, slipping behind the Akuma as he monologued — “Global warming,” he seethed, “is _ruining_ our environment!” — and whistled sharply. The Akuma spun around, enraged, and didn’t notice Ladybug barreling towards him on the other side.

A flying kick sent him sailing backwards off the building and he caught himself in mid-air with a screech. “How _dare_ you!” he yelled.

“I dare just fine,” said Chat cheekily, pelting him in the face with a snowball. The Akuma roared and a wall of icicles shot towards them. Chat dove out of the way but Ladybug caught one in the arm, a thin slit in her suit opening as it grazed her shoulder. She hissed in pain.

“I’m fine,” she insisted when Chat rushed over. A thin trickle of blood dripped down the exposed skin and speckled the snow. “Distract him again while I get my Lucky Charm.” Chat hesitated only briefly before running off after the Akuma, who had flown about a block away to continue his monologue. She could take care of herself.

With the Lucky Charm — an honest-to-God _flamethrower_ , Chat noted with glee — the Akuma was turned once again into a confused 12-year-old who only wanted a white Christmas. Chat felt a stab of anger towards Hawkmoth, not for the first time. What sort of monster brainwashed _children_?

They fist-bumped for the cameras and regrouped in an alley a block away from the school. “Is your shoulder okay?” he asked concernedly when they were alone.

“Yeah,” she said, rolling it experimentally. “It was barely more than a scratch, really.” She cocked her head and grinned. “Why, are you worried about me?”

“So what if I am?” he said, a tad defensively. “You could have gotten skewered back there.”

“I’m fine, Chat, really.” She patted his arm comfortingly. “I wasn’t paying attention. It won’t happen again.”

“Tough day, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “More like… exhausting friends.”

Chat sighed. “I know the feeling.” How he was going to explain away The Ladybug Thing was anyone’s guess. Even Nino had looked betrayed. It was going to be hard to patch it up with them even after Marinette had tried so hard to stick up for him. Letting her think Ladybug was just an excuse was the least he could do.

“Well,” she said, breaking into his train of thought. “At least the snow’s gone. Even in my suit I was freezing half to death.”

Chat grinned. “I wish you had said something, my Lady,” he purred suggestively. “I could have warmed you right up…” He wiggled his eyebrows comically.

She smirked as her Miraculous gave a warning beep. “Maybe next time, _chaton_ ,” she said with a wink, and then she flicked out her yo-yo and was gone. _‘That girl will be the death of me, I swear,’_ he thought with a sigh as he let his transformation drop.

School was cancelled for the rest of the day after the attack. Adrien trudged out of his classroom with his bookbag slung over his shoulder. He hadn’t seen Marinette, Nino or Alya since Marinette had dragged him off but he couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. He rounded a corner and nearly knocked into Chloé.

“Adrien!” she exclaimed. “Exactly the man I was hoping to see.”

“What’s up?” he asked warily.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she chided. “Sabrina went home and I was hoping to catch you before you left too.” She eyed him owlishly. “You’re not on your way to some photoshoot, are you?”’

“No, I haven’t even called Nathalie yet—”

“Oh, _good_.” She linked her arm around his elbow like a vice. “There’s this _adorable_ new boutique that opened just off the Champs-Élysées, you absolutely _have_ to come with me. You know I can’t go shopping without a second opinion.” He hesitated slightly and she pouted. “Come _on_ ,” she whined. “It’s been _ages_.”

He couldn’t deny that. “Alright,” he relented. “But let’s get something to eat first, I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” she complained as they walked down the hall. “Why don’t you ever eat at lunch? Or do you just have a hollow leg or some—”

“Shh!” said Adrien suddenly and stopped. His hearing wasn’t as good without Chat’s enhanced senses, but the sound of Marinette and Alya’s raised voices was unmistakable. They seemed to be coming from a classroom at the end of the hall.

He automatically dropped Chloé’s arm and silently followed the sound, stopping just before the door, which was slightly ajar. It was Marinette and Alya alright. They were arguing.

Chloé trailed after him. “What are you—?” she said in a harsh whisper but he shushed her again, listening intently.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Alya was saying heatedly. “If he did that to you—”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Marinette interrupted. “He _didn’t_. You both are ganging up on him for no reason and it’s not fair.”

“I’m not ganging up on anybody,” said Nino’s voice defensively. “All I’m saying is _if_ it happened, that’s messed up.”

“Which it _is_ ,” said Alya. “ _Thank_ you!”

“And I’m telling you both, _it didn’t_. Honestly, it’s like talking to a wall.”

“Is that…?” whispered Chloé. “Who are they talking about?” Adrien waved her off.

“You can’t hide stuff like this from me, Mari,” said Alya. “What, do you think I’m stupid? I know you better than anybody! You didn’t see your face. Nino, back me up here!”

“Hey, leave me out of this,” said Nino.

“You didn’t leave _yourself_ out of this,” Marinette pointed out angrily. “You know what? Fine, it crossed my mind. I know he likes Ladybug, because _everyone_ likes Ladybug. Then I came to my senses, _because I’m not an idiot_.”

“He didn’t deny it,” said Alya. “You saw his face.”

“You would have crucified him if he had!” yelled Marinette. “You’ve already made up your minds, the both of you. I can’t believe you, Nino, Adrien is your best friend!” Chloé’s eyes were wide, staring at Adrien as he ignored her, completely focused on catching every word.

“All I’m saying is, like, ninety per cent of your behavior the past few months makes sense now,” said Alya, reigning herself in to a more diplomatic tone. “Of course you couldn’t look him in the face, he _dumped_ you for a _celebrity_.”

“He. _Didn’t_.”

“Nino,” said Alya despairingly. “Has he ever said anything to you? About that day?”

“All I know is he blurted something about liking someone else because he didn’t know what to say,” said Nino. “But he wouldn’t tell me something like rejecting you for Ladybug, because that’s fucking stupid.”

Marinette made an annoyed grunting noise and there were footsteps, like she was pacing back and forth. “I can’t believe you won’t _listen_ ,” she said exasperatedly. “That journalist wrote something stupid about _wistful sighing_ , Adrien is a fan of Ladybug, and I _happen_ to be a little upset — because this is the first article I’ve read about him in _months_ — and you two go on some sort of… of _witch hunt_!”

“It’s not a witch hunt if it’s true,” Alya countered.

“Which it _isn’t_!” said Marinette shrilly. “Do I have to spell it out for you? Draw a map, maybe?”

“Don’t you start with me,” Alya said testily.

“Hey,” interjected Nino. “Maybe Marinette’s right.”

“Oh my God, _finally_.”

“Ni _no_!” said Alya, a definite note of betrayal in her voice.

“I’m just playing Devil’s advocate,” said Nino defensively. “But I mean _really_ , Al, do you honestly think he’s that much of a jerk?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then maybe we should listen to Marinette.” There was a rustling sound, like he was adjusting his cap. “I mean, I was almost convinced for a while, but does it even make _sense_? And we weren’t there, Alya. Marinette was.”

Alya spluttered in the background as Marinette let out an annoyed “ _Thank_ you!”

“Oh, for the love of… _fine_ ,” said Alya. “Jesus.”

“About time,” said Marinette darkly.

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” said Alya.

“Maybe you should _listen_ , then,” said Marinette.

“But really, Marinette, after what you told me about you-know-who…”

“Alya, _don’t._ ” Marinette’s voice had a warning edge to it.

“I’m just _saying,_ it would make more sense if he—”

“I said _drop it._ ”

“What are you guys talking about?” said Nino.

“Nothing important,” said Marinette. The voices were coming closer.

“Oh shit,” whispered Adrien distractedly. He cast around wildly for a place to hide but Chloé had already hooked a manicured finger in the neck of his shirt and hauled him across the hall, flinging him into an empty classroom and zipping inside behind him seconds before the door opposite swung open. She stood tensely in the darkened room, sandwiching him between herself and a filing cabinet and listening intently.

He hadn’t realized he wasn’t breathing until the footsteps receded and she relaxed. Once the moment had passed he felt bad, guilty for eavesdropping but even more so for the way Marinette so staunchly defended him even in absentia. She really was an amazing person.

“Thanks, Chloé,” he said automatically as she flipped on the light. “That was a close one.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. She hadn’t turned around. It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn’t the only one in the hallway. If _he_ heard everything…

Whoops.

“Chloé?” he said uncertainly.

She spun on her heel, a hand on her hip. “You,” she said, “have some explaining to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [dramatic piano riff]
> 
> I forgot to do this in the last chapter but hey, check me out on [tumblr!!](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/) xoxo [peace sign emoji]


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the interaction y'all have been waiting for for the last 10 chapters happens.
> 
> ~~no not that one~~

Chloé Bourgeois was many things, but she was not an idiot. She was also, contrary to popular belief, not a terrible person. Was she spoiled as a child? Sure. Was she inherently better than most people she knew, by virtue of being gorgeous and filthy rich? Absolutely. But she chalked up her awful behavior as a child to an absent mother and a father who couldn’t say no to her. She had _changed_. She was a _good person_.

So when Adrien told her what she demanded to know, she — with a sort of resigned determination — knew what she had to do.

And maybe Marinette Dupain-Cheng had been a pain in her ass when they were kids, but never let it be said that Chloé Bourgeois let an old grudge stand in her way.

The bell above the door tinkled lightly as she swept through the bakery door.

The tiny woman behind the counter smiled brightly as Chloé surveyed her surroundings. “Welcome!” she said warmly.

“Mrs Cheng?” said Chloé unnecessarily. There was only one person the woman could possibly be.

Marinette’s mother furrowed her brow for the briefest of moments before a hint of recognition sparked in her eye. “Miss Bourgeois,” she said politely. “How may I help you?”

“I need to speak to Marinette, is she at home?” Mrs Cheng hesitated, and Chloé sighed. “I assume your daughter has mentioned me,” she said. “I promise, I come in peace.”

Mrs Cheng hesitated only another second before she called over her shoulder. “Tom, I’ll be right back!” An answering yell came a moment later and she seemed satisfied, wiping her hands on her apron. “Follow me, please.”

Chloé had been in the bakery before but never upstairs; she had never had a reason or desire to see how Marinette lived. She had viewed Marinette’s — and by extension Alya’s and Nino’s — continued presence in Adrien’s life first with deep resentment and then with forced tolerance as the four of them grew closer, despite her best efforts in collège to the contrary. By this point she’d grown mostly apathetic to the whole concept, although now a mild curiosity had awakened as she hiked up the stairs.

Sabrina’s house was tiny, by Chloé’s standards, although most everything was. Besides, she’d known Sabrina for years, so her place didn’t count. This was _different._ A chance to see how the other half lived, as it were.

The apartment was surprisingly pleasant inside. Quaint, but it didn’t seem quite as small as it did from the outside. Warm air from the bakery wafted from downstairs and Chloé could smell honey and chocolate. “Marinette should be in her room,” said Mrs Cheng, ever polite, but Chloé caught the underlying apprehensive tone in her voice. “It’s just up the stairs there. I’d walk you in, but…” There was a yell from downstairs.

“Thank you,” said Chloé pleasantly.

“Marinette?” Mrs Cheng called. “You have a visitor.”

“What?” came the answering yell.

“Come down, you have a visitor!”

“Maman,” said Marinette’s voice irritably as the pastel trap door in the ceiling swung up, “you know I can’t hear when you—” She popped her head down and froze mid-sentence. Chloé waggled her fingers and smirked.

“I need to go down again, will you be alright?” asked Mrs Cheng.

“I—”

“We’ll be _fine_ ,” said Chloé sweetly. “Really, thank you _so_ much, Mrs Cheng. Won’t be a moment, I promise.”

Mrs Cheng glanced at her daughter’s upside-down head, which hesitated before a disembodied arm waved her off resignedly and Marinette disappeared back into the void beyond the trap door. “Alright then,” she said under her breath. “Please make yourself at home,” she said aloud, and closed the door behind her.

Now that she was alone, Chloé took another superficial inspection of the living room. It certainly wasn’t flashy, but she could understand the appeal of living like this. If she ever lost all her money and had to live away from the hotel, there could be worse places to end up, she supposed.

“Are you coming up or what?” said Marinette’s voice, annoyed.

She climbed the stairs and was immediately assaulted by the color pink. Every inch of the room was covered in the stuff. From the ceiling to the bedspread, even Marinette herself was sitting in the middle of the floor in a hot pink romper, scattered bits of fabric surrounding her as she threaded a needle. Chloé wasn’t sure whether or not she was surprised at this.

“Nice place,” she said, surveying the room with a critical eye.

Marinette snorted. “Save the sarcasm,” she said acidly, tying the thread in a loose knot.

“Me? Sarcastic? I would never,” said Chloé drily. “It’s very… bright.”

“What do you want, Chloé?” said Marinette testily, jabbing the needle into a tiny heart-shaped cushion.

Chloé sighed and crossed the room to the chaise lounge — the only decent piece of furniture in the place — draping herself across it like it was made for her. She made a mental note to have one picked up for her own room. It was incredibly comfortable. Marinette stiffened visibly at her generally casual demeanor but Chloé waved a hand dismissively. “Relax,” she said. “I’m not here to harass you.”

“That would be a first,” muttered Marinette.

“Honestly, Marinette, you’re so _suspicious_. When was the last time I bitched you out? Embarrassed you in front of Adrien?” She examined her nails casually, eyebrows carefully arched, the very picture of control and power. It was a practiced look. It had been barely five minutes since she walked into the bakery, and she already owned the room. It was a gift, honestly.

Marinette was silent, lips pursed, and Chloé smirked. “Exactly,” she said.

“Is there a particular reason,” said Marinette through gritted teeth, “that you’re here, or should I just throw you down the stairs right now?”

Chloé tutted. “Violence is never the answer,” she said primly. “I’m here about Adrien.”

Marinette instantly flushed and looked away. “Here to rub my nose in it, I suppose,” she said bitterly. “Well, you’re out of luck. I’m afraid there isn’t an audience to cheer you on, so you’ll just have to try again at school tomorrow.”

“Rub your nose in what, exactly?” Chloé blinked.

“He _likes_ you, doesn’t he?” Marinette spat the words at her, like it pained her to say them. “Well, congratulations. Now get out.”

“Likes — oh, _Marinette._ ” Chloé laughed in spite of herself. “I have no idea who he likes, but it certainly isn’t _me._ ”

Marinette paused her shuffling of fabrics and looked up at her directly for the first time, a curious expression on her face. “He… doesn’t?” she said. She sounded honestly surprised.

“Not for lack of trying, believe me,” said Chloé, and shrugged. “But we’ve never been anything but friends. And let me tell you, if that wasn’t the case I wouldn’t haul ass across Paris to tell _you_ in person.”

Marinette furrowed her brow. “Then why _are_ you here?”

“I’m here because I happen to be an excellent friend,” said Chloé. “And so, apparently, are you.”

“What are you talking about?” Suspicion had been replaced by confusion, and curiosity was written all over her face. It may just have been Chloé’s incredible people skills at work, but Marinette was like an open book. It was fascinating.

“Darling Adrien and I heard the most interesting conversation earlier today,” she continued, examining her nails again. There was a chip in the polish on the left pinky that needed to be fixed immediately. “After the Akuma attack,” she added pointedly, when Marinette still looked perplexed. She instantly blanched.

“After… Adrien _heard_?” she gasped. “And you… How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” said Chloé. She made a mental note to book a nail appointment the second she left this place.

“Oh. Oh no.” Marinette clutched her hair, seemingly forgetting who was in the room with her. “I can’t believe… And you… But the school was empty, there’s no way—”

“Empty classroom across the hall,” said Chloé lightly. There was something almost funny about the way Marinette was flipping out like she wasn’t even there.

“Oh my God.” Marinette sat back on her heels, her voice slightly muffled under the hands clamped over her mouth. She eyed Chloé fervently. “Did he… Is he mad?”

“Mad? Hardly.” Chloé waved a hand dismissively. “He was tickled pink, you defending him like that. Even I was touched.”

Marinette scoffed suddenly. “I’m sure.”

“I’m serious.” Chloé leaned forward, and Marinette eyed her warily. “He told me everything.”

“…Everything?” She looked mortified.

“Well,” Chloé corrected. “Everything I didn’t pick up from what I overheard.”

“Oh God.” Marinette dropped her head in her hands again. Her ears were red.

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Remind me again why you’re not doing this at school?” said Marinette, all fight dissipating from her voice. “Isn’t that your thing?”

“What, you think I’m going to trash you for this?” Chloé put a hand to her heart in mock outrage. “In front of hundreds of people we don’t even know? Please, Marinette, give me some credit. There are some things a girl doesn’t do, and that’s humiliate someone who does your best friend a solid.”

“Never stopped you before,” Marinette pointed out.

Chloé considered this. “Fair point,” she conceded. “Alright, fine.” She sat up, resting her chin on a hand. “Here’s the deal. When I said Adrien told me everything, I mean he told me _everything_. The confession, the rejection…” She paused for emphasis. “The _Ladybug_ thing.”

Marinette exhaled deeply through her nose. “I see,” she said.

“And the thing is, that was a really shitty thing to say. Dropping Ladybug as a cop-out was incredibly stupid, not to mention juvenile, and he feels really bad about it.” She caught Marinette’s eye. “Believe me, he _knows_.”

Marinette stiffened. “You didn’t…?”

“I absolutely did. We might not be friends, and I was really shitty to you at school, but nobody deserves that.” Marinette opened her mouth to say something but Chloé held up a hand. “I didn’t tear him a new one, relax. The guy’s going through enough, he doesn’t need me on his case. But that’s why I came to see you.”

Marinette cocked her head slightly. “Why _did_ you come here?” she asked.

“Because it was private, and because…” Shit, this was harder than she thought. She breathed deeply. “Because Adrien talks about you all the time. About you and Nino and Alya. I don’t have to like you to respect how much you mean to him. And the way you defended him was way more than he deserved for that.”

Marinette looked utterly shocked. If this exchange had occurred even a year ago, Chloé might have snapped a picture. Had it framed, maybe. She suppressed the urge to dig her phone out of her purse. She was a good person.

“If it were _me_ ,” she continued conversationally, “well… Let’s just say he probably wouldn’t be going to public school any more.”

Marinette’s mouth flapped open and shut twice, looking for all the world like a fish out of water. Chloé almost considered putting her out of her misery, but she was having way too much fun. “For what it’s worth,” she added, “he really likes you, you know. Thinks you’re cute.”

Marinette’s expression soured instantly. “There it is,” she muttered.

“What?”

“ _He likes you! He thinks you’re cute!”_  She snorted derisively. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

Chloé blinked. “You think _this_ is me making fun of you? Honey, I say worse things to people for less before _breakfast_. Do you honestly think I would come all the way over here, _to your house_ , to tell you Adrien Agreste thinks you’re cute as a _power play_?” She leaned back in the chaise, raising an eyebrow dangerously. “Have you not been paying attention for the last eight years? If I wanted to destroy you, I would.”

“Then why don’t you?” Marinette’s eyes glinted. It sounded like a dare.

“Don’t tempt me,” Chloé sniffed. “I’m being _nice_ to you. Accept it or don’t, I don’t really care.” She got up smoothly and flicked her ponytail. “Whatever.” She stepped over the bits of fabric littering the floor and opened the trap door.

“What…? That’s _it_?”

“That’s it,” confirmed Chloé.

“You came all the way over here to tell me that you didn’t think I was a shitty person in an eavesdropped conversation.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Chloé pursed her lips. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

“I…” Marinette began, and then stopped.

“For the record,” said Chloé as an afterthought, “your hair looks good down. Those pigtails were _so_ eighties, and not in a good way. Although you might want to invest in a curling iron, it would frame your face better.”

“Uh… thanks? I guess.”

“Anytime,” said Chloé sweetly. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a nail appointment to get to. Ta-ta.” And with that she snapped the trap door shut behind her, Marinette’s utterly perplexed face forever engrained at the forefront of her mind.

On her way out she bought six boxes of macarons of varying flavors, silently relishing the bemused looks of Marinette’s parents behind the counter. Her chauffer was waiting outside and snapped to attention as she signaled him to get the boxes in the car, and she waved pleasantly at Marinette’s parents before getting in herself. She settled in and selected a raspberry one from her many boxes as the car pulled out onto the street.

She was a good friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an unreasonable amount of fun writing this. (Pls let me know if you think it's terrible, I'm kind of on the fence about it.)
> 
> Also _holy shit I can't believe this thing is at 20 chapters already??????_ Huge shoutout to all my faithful commenters (u know who u are) and everyone that's stuck by this completely self-indulgent fic so far. I had no idea this would last this long, much less that people would enjoy it — and it's not over yet!! this is incredible and i am crying,
> 
> Also check out my [tumblr](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/) I guess.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which... I use..... way too many......... ellipses................

“You alright there, Bug?”

Chat’s voice cut through her thoughts and she blinked at him in the deepening twilight. “Huh?”

“You seem a little off tonight, is something wrong?”

Ladybug shifted a little on her perch and tried to smile. “Sorry, I’ve just had a… confusing day.”

“D’you wanna take a break?” he asked.

She almost declined, but he looked so genuinely concerned that she melted a little. “Alright,” she relented, allowing him to help her off the chimney she had been crouching on. It was a short drop, one she could have easily hopped on her own, but something about his hand on her waist made her heart skip. She may have lingered a little in his arms before settling on the rooftop, but he didn’t appear to notice.

The night was cold, but not unbearably so — simply a reminder that December was now firmly here to stay. It still hadn’t snowed yet, with the obvious exception of the Akuma, but it was only a matter of time. She inched a little closer to him, mostly subconsciously but partly not and he gave a little start when their arms touched. She hesitated, but he was only looking down at her with a curious expression and slung an arm around her shoulders anyway. She settled against his chest with a little thrill in the pit of her stomach.

There was a strange sensation of grateful regret at the casual intimacy they had built up over the years. It meant she could be as close to him as she liked.

It also meant it was impossible to tell where they stood.

“What’s on your mind, Bug?”

She hummed thoughtfully. “You ever have those days where something happens that’s so surreal you can’t decide if you dreamed it or not?”

He chuckled. “I’ve had a few of those, yeah.”

“So there’s this girl I hate, right? Like, _really_ hate. She’s a bully, and a liar, and she used to torment me for _years_ , and she’s just so — _ugh_ , she’s the worst.”

“Don’t hold back, tell me how you _really_ feel,” he teased.

She grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, go on.”

“It’s just… She showed up at my _house_ today. I haven’t even spoken to her since collège, and she just shows up in my _room_ and she’s… _nice_ to me!” She gestured wildly. “ _Nice_! To _me_! Well, not _nice_ , exactly, she’s still _her_.”

“Woah, calm down,” he said gently, catching her wrist when she almost slapped him in the face with her flailing. “Is that a bad thing?”

“You don’t know her, Chat, she’s…” Ladybug searched for the words. “In collège, she got at least four people _Akumatized_. She’s horrible to everyone. And suddenly she makes a special trip across Paris to tell me she doesn’t think I’m a terrible person? I mean, obviously I can’t go into details, but it was so… _weird_. And just before she left she complimented my hair.” She stared at him for emphasis. “My _hair_ , Chat!”

“You have really nice hair, though,” he said lightly, plucking at the end of her braid. She flushed, her stomach wriggling pleasantly.

“Th-that’s not the point,” she stuttered. “It was so… _unlike_ her. In every way.”

“Maybe she’s changed,” he suggested. “I have a friend like that. People grow up, you know.”

“I guess,” she said reluctantly. On the one hand, holding Chloé to a different standard than anyone else was unfair and judgmental. On the other hand… it was Chloé.

“I mean, I’m just playing Devil’s advocate here. Maybe she’s a total monster, who knows?” he joked.

“She was just acting so… bizarre. I mean, it would be great if she wasn’t as horrible as she used to be to me anymore, but she…” Her gut twisted a little. “She couldn’t resist that one little dig. Just when I was ready to believe her.”

Chat was absent-mindedly rubbing little circles with his thumb on her shoulder, which was incredibly distracting. Her thoughts drifted as the reality of how _close_ he was settled in. She could hear his slow, steady heartbeat, feel his chest rising as he breathed, his warmth and his arm around her. She felt _safe_.

“What did she say?” he prompted gently when she didn’t speak.

“Oh! She… she said…” Her stomach knotted again. “You remember that… guy I liked?” Oh, that was weird. Talking about Adrien with Chat had felt so nice, to have someone who cared and talked her through it. It had been so comforting. But that was… _before_. Now it felt almost awkward.

He chuckled. “Vaguely.”

“She said… She said he thinks I’m cute.”

“Who wouldn’t? You’re _very_ cute.”

“No, but… You didn’t hear her.” How could she explain the sinking feeling in her chest? “She said he likes me. And the way she said it… It was like she meant he _likes me_.”

He was silent for a moment. “That’s… interesting,” he said carefully.

“…Yeah,” she agreed lamely.

“Is that… a good thing?”

She sighed. “I don’t know?” she admitted. “I mean, I have no idea if it’s even true, because fucking with me is kind of her thing? She could have just said it because she knew it would hurt me. Or maybe I’m misinterpreting her tone because that’s the kind of thing I’d expect her to say. But if it is…” She curled in on herself.

He was quiet again. This was different than before. Not only had she had her own epiphany about her _feelings_ since the last time she vented about Adrien, it occurred to her for the first time how weird it must be for _him_. If he’d meant any of his flirting before, at _all_ … Oh God. And she’d put him through this for _months_. Assuming he liked her back, of course…

“If it is?” he prompted again softly.

“If it is,” she repeated, and stopped. What did she want? How did she feel about this? Adrien’s face in the hall before the Akuma attack swam in her head, all green eyes and easy smile. Her chest suddenly felt tight. “If it is, well, it’s a little late, don’t you think?”

He had no response to that, so she continued, “I spent so long crying and avoiding him, and now that I can finally talk to him again… If he really likes me, wouldn’t he have said something before? Not shot me down and let me get over it?”

“Maybe he was scared,” said Chat.

She glanced at him but he was looking at the sky and didn’t seem to notice. “I guess,” she said, settling back on his chest. “But it’s like… too little too late, y’know?” He hummed noncommittally. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just ready to move on,” she said.

“Oh?” He was looking down at her now, and there was an odd tone in his voice. She kept her face impassive to conceal the fact that the butterflies in her stomach were going bananas.

“There are other fish in the sea,” she said lightly.

“I didn’t know ladybugs could swim,” he teased.

“Can cats?” she countered sweetly.

“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent swimmer,” he said in mock-outrage.

“Oh really?” she said, eyeing him with her eyebrows raised. She tapped his nose with a smirk. “Maybe you can teach me sometime.”

She rose smoothly to her feet and resisted the urge to look back at his sharp intake of breath. Oh, flirting with him was _fun_. She stood carefully at the edge of the building, arms lightly crossed behind her back. _‘Three, two…’_

He popped up beside her. “Is that an invitation, my Lady?”

She pursed her lips in an imitation of deep thought. “I mean, it’s a bit cold right _now_ ,” she said. “But when summer comes my mom usually takes me swimsuit shopping and it would be such a _shame_ to let a new bikini go to waste…”

“I’m sure you look stunning in anything,” he purred.

“I don’t know,” she said, tapping her chin. “Some of those suits get awfully small… It’s almost like there’s no point in even wearing one at all.”

He gulped audibly.

She blinked innocently. “Why, _chaton_ , don’t tell me you’ve never gone _skinny dipping_ before?”

“I didn’t know that was a thing people did in real life,” he said hoarsely.

“Oh, _mon chéri_ , it’s not just something American movies invented.” She looked at him for the first time since he walked over; his expression was one of someone trying _very hard_ not to imagine her naked. She found the sensation strange, but — she realized with a thrill — she wasn’t entirely sure she minded.

She leaned in close, her yo-yo balanced delicately in her hand. “You should try it sometime.”

She was gone before the blush had finished turning his face the same shade as her suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay but holy shit the last chapter got the most comments I've ever gotten on one update???? I'm so thrilled you guys liked it, it warms my shriveled soul (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> Anyways check out my [tumblr](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/) my dudes.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it's suddenly Christmas in April.

Christmas was a miserable affair. It always was, of course. Adrien’s father tried his best, after that first Christmas after his mother disappeared, but it felt so forced and artificial that they both silently gave up. Decorations still went up, the famed Agreste winter show went ahead as always, but there was no family dinner, no present exchange on Christmas morning, and absolutely no caroling. The staff got the day off and a holiday bonus, but Gabriel holed himself up in his office and Adrien spent the night alone.

He laid in his bed, absently tossing a tennis ball into the air. Plagg grumbled loudly on Adrien’s chest. “Okay, kid, you need to cut this out,” he said.

“Cut what out?” _Thump_ went the tennis ball.

“This _brooding_ thing. It’s annoying.”

“I’m not brooding!”

“Yes, you _are_ , and it’s putting me off my nap.”

“Then go sleep somewhere else,” Adrien huffed.

“Do something relaxing. Watch a movie! Draw a picture! Even sighing about Ladybug would be a nice change. I can’t stand you like this.”

“I can’t draw.”

“Did I say you had to? Come on, kid, work with me here.”

Adrien sighed and let the tennis ball drop from his hand. “I guess I could go for a run.”

“No, I meant do something relaxing for _me._ Running is the exact _opposite_ of what I suggested.”

“Too late, claws out!”

“Oh for the love of—”

Chat Noir slipped silently out into the night.

It was close to midnight, and the streets were mostly empty. His breath puffed around his head in clouds as he bounded over rooftops, footsteps crunching softly in the light snowfall from the night before. A silver lining, he supposed. That kid got his white Christmas after all.

The Notre Dame was lit up spectacularly, a sparse crowd milling around the enormous tree in the plaza out front. He crouched in the shadows on a rooftop about a block away, watching them. It must be nice to have traditions that didn’t fall apart.

The church bells rang out, startling him. A few people in the crowd cheered. His mother used to take him to midnight mass. None of them had been particularly religious, but it had been something her grandparents had done with her as a child and the melodic tone of the bells made him feel like he was seven years old again, sandwiched between his parents, eating a cookie his mother had smuggled in for him in her purse to keep him quiet during the sermon. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand and took out his baton. Staying here wasn’t doing him any good.

He wandered aimlessly around Paris for a while, stopping briefly for a picture with a pair of giggling tourists who spotted him pausing for a breather by a statue they’d been posing in front of, and ended up — as he so often did — on the Eiffel Tower. It was quieter up here, even more so than on the street, and bitterly cold, but for the first time that night he felt at peace.

The two weeks since the Ladybug Incident, as he referred to it in his head, had been tense. Nino got over it fairly quickly — he apologized the next day — but Alya had eyed him with something bordering on suspicion ever since the article. She wasn’t directly cold towards him; that wasn’t her style. Instead she looked at him very pointedly whenever Ladybug was mentioned, and asked him very probing questions regarding his opinions on Chat Noir. He was beginning to run out of ways to deflect her. He had a growing suspicion he was her primary suspect. He should have known she wouldn’t drop it.

 _Stupid_.

Marinette, on the other hand, was getting increasingly defensive. He had figured she and Alya had worked out their problems — and from what Nino said, they mostly had — but things were heating up between them, and he was the source once again. The only difference was who was on which team, and the guilt was eating him up. He knew she thought Ladybug was only a convenient excuse, but that somehow made it worse. She was defending him for something he couldn’t explain, and she was doing it unwaveringly.

There was no universe in which he deserved a friend like her.

Even Chloé thought it was bad. And there was no love lost between her and Marinette, which only drove home how shitty an “excuse” it was.

“Are you telling me,” she’d said disbelievingly in the empty classroom, “that Marinette Dupain-Cheng _asked you out_ and your first reaction was to tell her you’re _holding out for Ladybug_?”

“I didn’t know what to say!” he defended himself. “It just came out! _She_ made the jump to Ladybug.”

“Of all the — are you _shitting_ me?” she spluttered. “Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds? You have a girl you _like_ — don’t you _dare_ deny it, Agreste, I’m not an idiot — she confesses her feelings for you and you basically tell her your celebrity crush is more important? Because, what? You don’t feel like being tied down?”

“It’s not like that!” he protested.

“It doesn’t matter!” she yelled. “Marinette is a ditzy little know-it-all, but she’s your _friend_ for crying out loud! I don’t think I’ve ever heard her yell that loud my entire life, and I’ve known her longer than you. Those were her best friends in there. She’s never even yelled at _me_ like that!”

“I know,” he’d said miserably.

“Oh my God, Adrien.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of all the stupid…” She waved her hand dismissively. “Forget shopping. We’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Are you mad?”

“Of _course_ I am, you nimrod, this is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done.” She poked him in the chest. “You’re just lucky she’s too nice to do anything about it.”

She was right, of course. Marinette was way too nice. And he _did_ like her. She was pretty, and smart, fun to be around… If only she’d waited. Even just one week.

This whole mess could have been avoided.

Then again, if she had waited, he wouldn’t have been able to pick up the pieces of his Lady’s heart…

He groaned, digging his claws into his scalp. Why couldn’t things ever be _easy_?

A tiny sound made him tense up and he spun around with a start. Ladybug had come up behind him and was hovering uncertainly a few meters away with her hands behind her back.

“Ladybug!” he exclaimed lamely. “I — what are you doing here?”

“Those girls you took a picture with,” she said sheepishly. “They submitted it to the Ladyblog. I saw you were out and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” he assured her.

“Are you sure?” she asked gently.

“I…” He deflated a little. “Just got a lot on my mind,” he admitted. “Christmas isn’t really my favorite time of year.”

“Well, maybe this will help. Close your eyes.” He looked at her curiously. “Just do it!” she insisted. “It’s a good surprise, I swear.” Hesitantly, he did.

He felt something hard and angular shoved into his chest and he brought up his hands instinctively to catch it. He opened his eyes to see a small box in brightly wrapped paper resting in his palms. He blinked and glanced up at Ladybug, whose cheeks were pink.

“Merry Christmas, Chat,” she said shyly.

“I… What?”

“It’s a Christmas present,” she said, her smile faltering a little. “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight, so the wrapping’s a little crooked, and I couldn’t find the card I made…”

“You made me a card?” he repeated faintly.

“I’ll bring it next time!” she assured him hurriedly. “It’s just my room’s a bit of a mess and I — _oof_!”

He hugged her so hard she was lifted off the ground momentarily. “Thank you, Ladybug,” he said thickly, face buried in her hair.

“You haven’t even opened it, silly,” she said, although the initial shock had worn off and she was hugging him back as best she could. “What if you hate it?”

“I won’t,” he said emphatically.

“Then open it and see,” she said, gently disentangling herself from his tight embrace. “Look—” And here she shuffled snow over the edge of the platform with her foot, clearing a space just big enough for them to huddle together on the ground, “—come sit down.”

He let her lead him over and sat down, still clutching the small parcel for dear life. She knelt next to him and nudged him gently in the ribs. “Go on,” she encouraged with a smile.

“But it’s pretty,” he whined.

“Come on, _chaton_ , you can’t just keep them in the box forever. They’ll go stale.”

“Stale?” He hesitated very briefly before carefully slitting the tape on the neatly wrapped package. It was a box of macarons.

“I wasn’t sure what flavor you’d like, so I put a bunch of different ones in there just in case,” she explained, the faintest hint of a blush tinging her cheeks beneath her mask. “They’re a little wonky, my dad’s better at making them than me.”

“You made these?”

Her blush deepened. “Yeah, I bake sometimes. I’m sorry they’re so small, I didn’t know how to bring them if I got a bigger box—”

“I love macarons,” he blurted.

“Oh. Oh, good!” She smiled, clearly relieved.

He picked one up very carefully between two claws, hesitated, and shoved the box in her face. “Take one,” he said.

“Chat, it’s _your_ present.”

“I want to share them with you. Take one,” he insisted.

She sighed and took one.

“So,” she said after a few minutes. “What’s on your mind? Why aren’t you at home?”

He swallowed. “We don’t really celebrate Christmas at my house,” he said.

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said gently.

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to, it’s just… personal, I guess. Hard to talk about.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” she reminded him.

He sighed. “My mom… She went missing a few years back,” he said quietly.

“Oh, Chat… I’m so sorry.” She took his hand, lacing their fingers together absently, her eyes never leaving his face. He smiled faintly.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s just… Christmas was _her_ thing, y’know? My dad was never the same after that. And celebrating just doesn’t feel right. We put the tree up and stuff, but no presents or dinners or anything.” He glanced up at her and softened at her expression. “It’s fine,” he assured her, squeezing her hand gently. “ _I’m_ fine. Promise.”

“Still… I’m sorry, Chat.” Her big blue eyes were so warm and soft and full of _something_ that made his chest tighten. “It must be hard. And here I am,” she said suddenly, looking at the half-empty box of macarons, “bringing you _Christmas presents_ like an _idiot_ , oh my God—”

“Bug, relax!” He caught her free arm, which was flailing madly, and laced those fingers with his too. “I love them.”

“Yes, but—”

“Ladybug,” he said seriously, and she stopped. “This is the best Christmas present I’ve gotten in years.”

There was a beat.

“Oh. My. God.”

He cackled as she tried in vain to free a hand to smack him with and she resorted to contorting her body to swipe lamely at his knees with her feet. “Come on, that was pretty good,” he snickered.

“You… _You_ ,” she said, kicking madly.

“Your _face_!”

“I’m gonna do something to _your_ face in a minute!”

“Is that a promise?”

“You’re awful,” she laughed.

It was the best Christmas he’d had in a long time.

And when she showed up the next night with a handmade card — “Merry Christmas, Chat! Love, Ladybug” written with loopy, vaguely familiar handwriting on the interior — he couldn’t contain his smile as he tucked it into his suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never seen the Christmas episode. [hangs head in shame] If this lines up, great! My 10 minute Googling session payed off. If not, yay canon divergence!
> 
> And to all of you at home wondering "Waiter, what's all this fluff doing in my angstfic?" I say to you: Be patient, kidlings, but [Thomas Astruc voice] no spoilers ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) (But let's be honest folks, isn't that half the fun?)
> 
> My tumblr is [here.](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chat discovers a problem and decides to throw money at it.

It was about a month after New Year’s when he stopped suddenly on their patrol, nearly causing Ladybug to crash into him and send them both flying off a four-story building.

“Chat?” she said, alarmed when she saw the horrified look on his face.

“I didn’t get you a Christmas present,” he said.

“Oh my God, Chat,” she laughed, clutching her chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, I thought something was wrong—”

“ _Ladybug_ ,” he said emphatically, grabbing her shoulders with a wild look in his eye, “I _didn’t_ get you a _Christmas present_.”

“Chat, it’s fine,” she said, her smile faltering. “Really, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” He looked positively scandalized at the thought. “I didn’t get you a _Christmas present_! Oh my God, how could I—”

“Chat, _breathe_.” He inhaled shakily. “Honestly, it’s not a big deal. I swear I don’t mind.”

“But you gave me those macarons, and—”

“ _Chat_. It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“I can fix this,” he said, sudden determination blazing in his eyes. Suddenly he was off, bounding away before she even realized he was gone.

“Chat, _wait_!” she called after him.

“I’ll see you later!” he yelled over his shoulder.

She didn’t see him for two days.

She was starting to worry when he showed up on the Eiffel Tower, arms behind his back. “Close your eyes,” he said when she turned around.

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “I told you—”

“C’mon, Bug, humor me. Close your eyes!” She complied, rolling her eyes very pointedly before she did so. “Hold out your hands.”

Something small and strangely heavy dropped into her outstretched palms. “What on earth…?”

“Open it!”

The paper was silvery, thick and neatly wrapped. She slid the expertly curled ribbon off and hovered for a moment, unsure what to do with it. Tossing it aside would just be rude, so she simply set the loop on Chat’s head, who accepted his new crown without comment.

She carefully pulled off the tape to reveal a small velvet box that looked suspiciously like it contained jewelry. Her stomach knotted. “This isn’t a ring, is it?” she deadpanned.

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “Why would I bother wrapping something like that?” He seemed to have no problem with the idea, which did nothing to soothe her nerves. Apprehensively, she opened the box.

The necklace was delicately wrought, a thin chain supporting an elegant star-shaped pendant inlaid with what looked like diamonds. She stared at it, blinking slowly in disbelief.

“Do you like it?” he asked nervously.

“Is this silver?” she asked, almost dreading the answer.

“White gold,” he said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I thought about earrings instead, but, well…”

“Chat…” She trailed off, staring at the box.

“I can exchange it,” he said anxiously when she didn’t say anything else.

“Chat, this… this is too much,” she said quietly. “I can’t accept this.”

“Why not?”

He looked so honestly confused she just stared at him for a second. “Chat, this is _gold_ and _diamonds_! It must have cost a fortune!”

“Why does that matter? I can take it back if you don’t like it—”

“No, I _do_ , it’s beautiful.” She looked helplessly between in the box and her partner, who still looked perplexed at her dilemma. “But this is… How did you even afford this?”

He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

“But you must have saved for ages!”

“Not really.” He sounded so off-handed that she almost believed him.

She touched the star gingerly. It was gorgeous, but she couldn’t possibly accept it. Could she?

“I just gave you some macarons,” she said faintly.

“I just… wanted to give you something that showed you how much that meant to me,” he said softly, his face reddening slightly. “Then I saw that and thought of you.”

“You go to a lot of jewelry stores?” It was meant to sound like a joke but her voice was too shaky.

He grinned. “You’d be surprised.”

Her hand hovered for a moment before she took the necklace out of the box and undid the clasp. She glanced at him. “Help me?”

He was surprisingly gentle with his claws, brushing her hair off her neck before adjusting the chain carefully. “There.”

She turned back to face him and he was so close, looking so pleased with himself she felt her heart melt. The necklace probably cost more than her parents’ last car, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as much when she saw his face. She leaned up and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Thank you, Chat,” she murmured. “I love it.”

“Well, if I’d known you were going to do _that_ I would have got the earrings too,” he said haltingly, touching his face gingerly with a lopsided grin.

“But don’t you ever spend this much money on me again,” she chastised sternly, feeling the heat rising in her own cheeks. “This was too much.”

“Only the best for my Lady,” he replied smoothly. “How do you feel about Porches?”

“I swear to God, Chat, if you try to buy me a car I will drop-kick you off this tower,” she said, only half-kidding.

When she got home she placed the necklace gently in its box and tucked it away in a drawer of her vanity, deciding to keep it for special occasions. What was that silly cat thinking, buying her something so extravagant? This was an anniversary-level gift, not an acceptable reciprocation for baked goods she made for fun anyway. But she twisted and turned in bed that night, thinking of his face when she kissed his cheek, and her heart fluttered at her own boldness.

Marinette went to school the next day with the star tucked safely under her sweater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the fillers. Think of this as the calm before the storm.
> 
> Some people have been asking very valid plot-related questions in the comments, and I just want to say that I swear I'm not ignoring them on purpose!! It's just that I have everything 99% plotted at least 20 chapters ahead and answering those questions would spoil a lot of stuff. I hear what you're saying, and please know that a bunch of things that have been pointed out are hopefully going to be explained in future chapters, but I can't say which ones because spoilers. This fic is far from over and there's a lot to cover. I'm honored that you guys are so invested, but please be patient ♡
> 
> Also, speaking of updates, I have a question for you guys. The reason I'm able to bang out chapters so fast is mostly because of a combination of insomnia and impatience. I rarely ~~feel the need to~~ edit or even skip around much while writing (even within a chapter) because I have everything basically mapped out in my head, so I can usually write 2-3 chapters in one sitting before I take a break or finally crash and pass out. This means triple updates and occasional days without updates at all. Would y'all prefer I sit on chapters so you're (mostly) guaranteed a daily update? Or does the surprise thing work?
> 
> Thanks so much for continuing to support this monster of a trashfic ♡♡♡♡
> 
> Tumblr is [here!](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adrien discovers he has hormones and we return to your regularly scheduled programming.

“Hey, Adrien, what did you get for number four?”

Adrien started. “Oh, uh, hold on…” He shuffled through his notes. “The formula is… Wait, which one is number four again?”

Alya groaned. “What’s the point of having a study session with the resident physics genius if he isn’t even paying attention?”

“Come on, bro,” whined Nino, clutching desperately at the coffee he’d smuggled into the library. “My entire grade is riding on this.”

“C’mon, you guys, give him a break. We’ve been at this for hours,” said Marinette, tapping her pencil in an even rhythm. “Question four was the one with—”

“Nope!” declared Nino, taking a swig of his coffee like a dying man in a desert. “I give up. I can’t think about quantum whatevers for another minute or I will set myself on fire, I swear to God.”

“Look what you’ve done,” said Alya despairingly. “You’ve broken Nino.”

“Sorry,” said Adrien sheepishly.

Marinette closed her book with a sigh. “We might as well take a break,” she said, rubbing her temples. “I think my head’s going to explode.”

“Great,” said Alya. “We have a mutiny.”

“I’m sorry guys,” said Adrien. He flicked through his text book. “We can try this one instead…”

“It’s too late,” said Alya. “The vibe has been ruined. Moment? Gone. Flow? Completely and utterly wrecked.”

“We’ve made a lot of progress, though,” said Marinette encouragingly. “I was completely lost on Newton’s Law of whatever until Adrien explained it. Now I totally understand!”

“Do you? Do you really?”

“Burst my bubble, why don’t you.”

“So, _Adrien_ ,” said Alya sweetly, turning away from Marinette. “What was so important that it distracted you from our _utterly fascinating_ tutoring session?”

_‘Ladybug kissed my cheek three weeks ago, and I’m still not over it,’_ he thought. “Nothing much,” he said.

“ _Really_?” She pursed her lips, clearly not buying it. “It looked like you were miles away.”

_‘I bought a diamond necklace for my not-girlfriend and she kissed me.’_ He shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know, I’m kind of hungry, I guess.”

“Oh my God, food sounds amazing,” moaned Nino.

“Hey, have you checked the Ladyblog recently?” Alya continued, eyeing Adrien slyly. “I’m getting a lot of _really_ great submissions lately.”

“I haven’t checked it today, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied carefully.

“Alya,” said Marinette, raising an eyebrow warningly.

“What?” said Alya innocently. “Can’t a girl ask a friend about her own blog?” She rested her chin in her hands with a smirk. “There’ve been an awful lot of patrols lately. Don’t Chat and Ladybug make the _cutest_ couple?”

“They’re not dating,” said Adrien and Marinette simultaneously. They glanced at each other in surprise.

“Wow, okay,” said Nino. “Was that practiced or just a hilarious coincidence?”

Marinette cleared her throat and seemed suddenly very preoccupied with repacking her pencil case. “I think,” she said, “that we should change the subject.”

“Okay, fine,” said Alya reluctantly. There was a short pause.

“Anyone up for burgers?” said Nino when nobody said anything.

“Sounds great!” said Marinette, gathering their collection of supplemental textbooks together a little too enthusiastically. “I’ll just put these — whoops!”

Adrien’s hand shot out automatically and he caught the encyclopedia just before it hit the ground. “Careful,” he said. “Here, let me help you with those.” He grabbed a couple of books off the top of her precarious stack, and noticed everyone staring at him. “What?”

“Dude, are you part cat or something?” said Nino. “That was wild.”

“I didn’t know you had reflexes like that,” said Alya.

“What, was I just supposed to drop it?” Adrien tried to sound casual, but the way Alya was eyeing him was edging too close to suspicion to be comfortable. “The librarian would have thrown us out for — hey, Marinette, are you okay?”

“What?” She blinked slowly, shaking her head. “Sorry, headache.”

“Are you alright?” Alya switched immediately into Mom Mode, her voice full of concern. “I have some ibuprofen in my bag.”

“No, I’m fine.” She smiled. “I’ll just put these away. You guys go ahead. Meet you outside?”

“Yes, oh _God_ yes,” said Nino, downing his coffee in one huge gulp. “I gotta get out of here.”

“I’ll help you,” offered Adrien.

She hesitated briefly but nodded. “Thanks.”

“Alright, I’ll get Nino out of here before he spontaneously combusts,” said Alya, hauling Nino to his feet. “Come on, you.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” said Marinette when they had left.

“I wanted to help.” Adrien shrugged. “Besides, I think the librarian would frown on using the chairs as step stools.”

“Are you calling me short?”

Adrien flushed. “Oh, God, no, I’m sorry, that was—”

“I was kidding,” she said reassuringly. “Thanks, Adrien, that was very thoughtful of you.”

They gathered the rest of the books in silence and got to work sorting them; Adrien took the higher shelves while Marinette took the lower ones. It was quick work. “That’s the last of them I think,” said Adrien finally, turning back to the table for his notes. He sat down to gather them all and shove them in his bag. “Oh, wait, there’s one more.” His haphazard collection of scrap paper and half-finished equations had completely obscured the last book.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it. I’m mostly packed up anyway.” She leaned over him to grab it and he caught a scent, like honey and chocolate. It smelled so familiar for some reason… His mind went hazy.

“Adrien?”

He snapped out of it. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head to clear it. “Spaced out for a second there.”

She hummed thoughtfully and turned back to the bookshelf as he hurriedly finished packing his bag. Of course she smelled familiar; this was Marinette for crying out loud. She’d sat behind him for two years straight. He’d been to her _house_. What a weird thing to fixate on.

There was a grunt of effort and Adrien glanced over at Marinette, who was reaching for a shelf only just out of reach. This would not normally have been a problem — Adrien would stand up, politely offer to help, and then placed the book back where it belonged so they could go meet Alya and Nino.

The problem was that Marinette was standing on the very tips of her toes, one leg in the air with an arm outstretched, in a pose that seemed simultaneously incredibly uncomfortable and entirely effortless. The problem was that she held her body with such easy grace, perfectly balanced on one foot like she’d practiced it her entire life, her entire body hinting at some physical control he didn’t know she possessed.

The problem was, with her back arched and her arms above her head, her chest was pushed forward and her sweater had hiked up to expose her navel and, standing as close as she was, when he turned to look at her in his seat he was basically eye-to-metaphorical eye with that chest and stomach.

And Marinette had abs.

Adrien had no idea how long he was staring before he had the presence of mind to swallow hard, although his suddenly dry mouth wasn’t making it very easy on him. So Marinette had abs. So what? Plenty of girls had abs. Chloé had abs, when she bothered to go to the gym. Ladybug had abs… Marinette let out another tiny grunt of exertion, her stomach contracting and her chest heaving. He looked away hurriedly. Oh boy. Okay, so he had a new kink, apparently. Well, this was fun.

“You, uh, need any help there?” he asked, his voice nearly cracking.

“Nah, I think I’ve just about got it…” She didn’t appear to have noticed him at all. He glanced sideways just as she hopped slightly to push the book into place. Things jiggled. He looked away, chest suddenly very tight.

“Hey, Adrien, are you alright?” She stood over him, bag over her shoulder, a look of concern on her face. “You don’t look so good.”

“No, I’m good. Swell, actually.” _Swell,_ really? _‘Real smooth, Adrien.’_

“Oh, okay.” She looked at him strangely but shrugged. “We should get going, Alya and Nino are waiting.”

“Yeah, of course.” He hoped to God his face wasn’t as red as it felt. It was just Marinette. What the hell was wrong with him?

Alya was trying to revive Nino from his dramatic swoon on a park bench when they found them. “I need caffeine,” he whined.

“You’ve had six cups of coffee, you big baby,” she said. “Geeze, what took you guys so long?”

“There were a lot of books on high shelves,” said Marinette. Adrien concentrated very hard on counting the beads on Alya’s scarf. “Come on, Nino, there’s a McDonald’s about a block away from here we can go to, I’m sure you can make it that far.”

The snow had nearly melted away by now and already there were hints of spring even though it was barely March. The air was vaguely warming and patches of grass were slightly less brown, so the walk was pleasant despite Nino’s steady stream of complaining. Adrien did his best to listen intently, although his mind was trying very hard to turn his thoughts to… other things.

He couldn’t figure out what had suddenly changed. It wasn’t like Marinette hadn’t always been pretty. She didn’t just appear one morning with breasts and hips and legs for days out of nowhere. She looked the same as she always did, except her hair was longer and she didn’t pull it back as much anymore. The only thing he could think of was he’d accidentally seen her stomach, which happened to be toned and strong and…

She seemed like the last girl on earth he would have expected to be _buff as hell_. She was energetic and bouncy, but that didn’t automatically imply athleticism. She looked like she could bench press him. He decided not to dwell on that fact.

“You still with us, Adrien?” said Alya, snapping her fingers suddenly in his face.

They were already standing in line. When did that happen? “Oh, yeah, totally. Sorry, were you saying something?”

“You’re miles away today, are you sure you’re alright?” asked Marinette concernedly.

“No, I’m fine,” he assured them, pretending to look at the menu. “Just… too much studying, I guess.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, my man,” groaned Nino, sliding up to the counter. “Five cups of coffee, please.”

“Ni _no_!”

As Alya and Nino bickered over how much caffeine was _way too much_ caffeine, Marinette eyed him sideways. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked. “You’ve been acting weird since the library.”

“Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind,” said Adrien. He thought about Ladybug to distract himself. Oh, that was _not_ helping.

“Oh. Okay.” There was a pause.

“So, uh, what have you been up to lately?” he asked to fill the silence.

She shrugged. “Homework, mostly,” she said. “I’ve been trying to make myself a new sundress, but I can’t figure out what pattern to use.”

“You mean like on the fabric?” She nodded. “Well, I hear florals are going to be big this year.”

She laughed. “Florals are _always_ big.”

“I’m serious! Big print. And yellow, lots of yellow.”

She grinned. “Yellow’s not really my color, but I’ll take that under advisement.”

Their food arrived quickly and they all sat together at a booth, Alya and Nino still bickering. Adrien shrugged off his coat. Was it hot in here, or was it just him? Marinette had already taken hers off in the line but now she decided that apparently wasn’t enough. She pulled her sweater off over her head, casually tugging down the hem of her t-shirt underneath as the action hitched it up over her stomach again. _‘Lung cancer! Kicked puppies! Captialism!’_ his brain screamed desperately as he tried not to stare. Alya whistled loudly.

“What?” said Marinette, furrowing her brow.

“Dude, when did you get _jacked_?” said Nino, a hint of awe in his voice.

“Check out the gun show!” said Alya appreciatively, squeezing Marinette’s bicep. “Where did these things come from?”

“Parkour,” she blurted, and then blushed.

“Wait, _what_?” said Alya. “Since when do you care about  _parkour_?”

“It’s _February_ , Mari, I’m more concerned about _where_.”

“Oh, um, well…” She was blushing furiously, which somehow made her freckles stand out. Adrien sucked desperately at his milkshake. “It hasn’t really snowed much this year, so I just started running when I had spare time — I’m not _that_ big, am I?” she said worriedly, looking at her arms as if she’d never seen them before.

“Girl, I would _kill_ to look like that,” said Alya, looking her up and down with new eyes. “I demand a demonstration.”

“What, _now_?”

“I second the motion,” said Nino. “If Marinette has sick moves I need visual proof.”

“Maybe we can eat first,” said Adrien. Maybe he could make a quick getaway before she decided to start doing kickflips. This was confusing enough without complicating the situation.

Marinette shot him a grateful glance and he smiled weakly in response. Oh boy. He had a type, didn’t he?

The food was gone way too fast and Adrien found himself dragged along to a nearby skate park. He could still make an excuse to leave, right? This day was weird enough already. But at the same time, there was a persistent curiosity niggling at the back of his mind. Marinette had always been so awkward around him. Even though after the Ladybug thing she’d begun to act like a normal person, opening up windows to a side of her personality he rarely saw before, there was that hint of something deeper he glimpsed back in the library — physical prowess and a hidden grace he’d only ever seen in one other girl, and she kept her face hidden.

His heart belonged to Ladybug and probably always would, but…

Well. He was only human, right?

“I can’t believe you guys are making me do this,” grumbled Marinette. “Now I’m gonna get all sweaty and gross.”

“No take-backsies,” said Alya indulgently, catching the coat Marinette thrust in her face. “You promised.”

“Didn’t,” said Marinette, but took off her sweater anyway. “I’ve never done this in jeans before, so don’t expect anything spectacular.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Adrien before he could stop himself, smiling encouragingly. She looked at him strangely as she rolled her shoulders, and pulled her hair back in a low ponytail. He hoped he didn’t sound as eager to her as he did to his own ears.

She took off in an easy jog down the stairs, gaining momentum until she was flat out sprinting across the asphalt, rolling under the first low rail in a tuck and popping up smoothly to hurdle over the next one without breaking stride. She ran up the sheer side of a ramp and vaulted back, twisting mid-flip and running again the second her feet touched the ground. She moved like she’d been doing this for years, every breath controlled and no part of her unaccounted for. Her body flowed easily from one trick to the next, each jump and backflip gliding effortlessly into the next, and her feet never missed a step. Watching her was like poetry in motion, and he was mesmerized. A part of him doubted even Chat Noir could keep up with her.

There was a moment she passed close by them, a split second as she prepared to launch herself back, and her face was the picture of concentration, her eyes narrowed, her jaw set, loose strands of hair curling around her face. She looked so determined, so in control. So much like…

Pain exploded in the space just behind his eyes and he doubled over, clutching his head, his mind hazing as Nino and Alya’s panicked choruses of “Oh my God!” and “Adrien!” echoed dimly in in his ears. He didn’t know how much time had passed until Marinette’s face swam into view. “Adrien, what happened?” she was saying. “Can you hear me? Are you alright?”

How did he end up on his knees? He stood up, shaking his head in a daze. “I… I’m fine,” he said.

“You didn’t _look_ fine,” said Nino worriedly.

“No, I…” The pain was gone as quickly as it had come, but he had a strange feeling he’d forgotten something important. “It was just a headache, I’m okay.”

“Some headache,” said Alya, digging through her bag. “Here.” She shoved a water bottle and two small tablets into his hand.

“No, really, Alya, I’m—”

“Take it.” Her voice left no room for debate so he dutifully gulped down the painkillers.

“You should go home,” said Marinette. Her face was flushed, but she’d barely broken a sweat. He stared at her, that small _something_ nagging at him in the back of his mind, and a fresh twinge of pain made him hiss and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll walk you,” said Nino immediately.

“You should call your car,” argued Alya.

“No, I… I’ll be fine. It’s not far,” protested Adrien. She eyed him skeptically but didn’t press the issue. “I’m sorry, guys.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Marinette instantly. “Go home and get some rest. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Adrien waved goodbye as Nino led him off. “I’m sorry,” he said again but Nino waved him off.

“You apologize too much, bro,” he said. “What happened back there?”

“I — I don’t know. I was watching Marinette, and then…” And then what? There was something _missing_. It wasn’t like he blacked out, but he’d been thinking about something important…

“Have you been getting enough sleep lately?”

“Yes. I don’t know what happened. It’s just a headache, I swear.”

Nino hummed disapprovingly but didn’t push. Instead he said, “Marinette was pretty cool today, though.”

“Yeah,” said Adrien, “she was.”

“Did you see when she did that _sick_ double backflip off that ramp?” Nino continued gleefully. “I had no idea she could do that.”

“Yeah, sick.”

There was something strange about the way she moved, how he _felt_ when she twisted in the air and caught herself running. It wasn’t fair to her, the way he felt his stomach suddenly tie into knots when she took off her sweater, the muscles in her arms gently defined. It wasn’t a crush, exactly. His body was responding beyond his control, but he _couldn’t._ He’d had his shot. She offered him her heart and he blew it, but he couldn’t even regret it properly because accepting it would be a lie, especially then.

It wouldn’t have been fair then, and it certainly wasn’t fair now.

Still, there was no harm in finding her attractive, right? So he had a type. It sucked that it took him this long to figure out he had that capacity beyond Ladybug, but aesthetically appreciating your friend was hardly a bad thing, was it? He could admire her from afar. Her and Ladybug…

Oh. That was a very awkward thought to have in public. He struggled to keep his face neutral as they neared his house.

“Take care of yourself, alright?” said Nino, waving goodbye as Adrien dug for his keys.

Hah. Very funny.

Adrien decided to take a very cold shower before going out to meet Ladybug that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, masturbation jokes. Classic comedy.
> 
> The votes are in! I will continue to update in a completely disorderly fashion, although I will try to stagger the updates a bit (i.e. if I post an update and finish the next chapter two hours later, I won't publish immediately so you guys have time to absorb the last one. That also means it will be harder to burn myself out, although with over 20 chapters in a month I think I'm doing alright lmao).
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for your constant feedback, and I hope I can continue to live up to your expectations ♡
> 
> Tumblr is [here~](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/)


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I can't find my painkillers so this is a headache in more ways than one.

“So what happened back there?”

Marinette pulled her sweater back on. “What do you mean?”

Alya gave her a look. “ _Everything_ , obviously. This day has been bizarre from start to finish. But let’s start with that absolutely _insane_ display back there.” She punched Marinette lightly in the shoulder. “What the _hell_ , girl? That was incredible! Why didn’t you tell me you could do that?”

Marinette felt the heat rising in her cheeks as she shrugged on her jacket. “I don’t know, it never came up.”

“Seriously, those were some _Ladybug_ -level moves back there.” Marinette considered this irony and prayed Alya wouldn’t think too hard about what she’d just said, but she didn’t appear to notice her own slip of the tongue as she plowed on. “I am both shocked and horrified you neglected to mention this. That roll? Those _backflips_? Where the hell did you find the time? And _how_?”

“It was just practice,” Marinette said vaguely. “Honestly, it’s not that hard once you get the hang of it.”

“No shit, you looked like you’ve been doing that for _years_. And you must have been going at it like crazy lately, you _definitely_ didn’t have muscles like that last time I looked.”

Marinette couldn’t exactly say she had thrown herself into her superhero persona to keep from dealing with reality, so she just shrugged.

“I hope Adrien’s okay,” she said instead.

“Yeah.” Alya pursed her lips. “Speaking of Adrien, what happened in the library?”

The library? Marinette frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” Alya crossed her arms, eyeing her shrewdly. “He’s been acting really weird today. Aside from all the spacing out while we were studying, I mean.”

“Alya, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come _on_.” Alya raised her eyebrows. “I can’t have been the only one who saw him staring at you. Now _spill_. What happened?”

Marinette blinked. “He was _what_?”

“ _Seriously_?”

There was a strange feeling in her chest, a sort of tightening in her lungs and a heat in her stomach that made her feel oddly weightless. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Why would I lie to you about something like that?” Alya looked concerned now. “Did he say something? Did _you_ say something? It must have been weird, being alone with him like that. I mean, you _look_ like you’ve moved on, but…”

“No, nothing happened. We put the books away, and then went out to meet you guys, I swear!” She didn’t know why she felt so defensive, but Adrien staring at her? She felt weirdly warm, and it had nothing to do with freerunning.

“He didn’t say anything? You didn’t notice anything… _off_?”

Marinette collapsed on a park bench. “I don’t know?” she said. “He was acting kind of weird in the library, but nothing _happened_. He didn’t say anything out of the ordinary. In fact,” she continued, pulling the rubber band out of her hair and running her fingers through the ends, “he was _avoiding_ eye contact, if anything.”

“Well, he could hardly keep his eyes off you when you were jumping all over the place,” said Alya, sitting down next to her. “Not to mention all the blushing while we were eating…”

Oh. Oh dear. “He was _blushing_?” she repeated faintly.

“You should have seen him before he fainted, or whatever it was he did.” Alya shook her head. “Total boner-face if I ever saw one.”

“ _Alya!_ ” spluttered Marinette, blushing furiously.

“It’s true!” insisted Alya, not embarrassed in the least. “Don’t get me wrong, I hope he’s okay, and I’m all for the whole Chat Noir thing, but…” She let her sentence trail off, but she didn’t need to say the question out loud for Marinette to understand.

“I…” Marinette began, and stopped. She hadn’t told anyone about Chloé’s bizarre visit; Adrien hadn’t mentioned it either, so she doubted he knew. A part of her thought it would just complicate things if it came out that Adrien — and Chloé, of all people — had heard that particular conversation, as much as she wanted help deciphering the confusing aftermath. But if what Alya was implying was true, then…

“Chloé came to see me,” she confessed quietly.

“ _What_? When?”

“Just before Christmas. Right after…” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “After the Ladybug thing.”

“But _why_?”

“They _heard_ , Alya. She and Adrien. After the Akuma.”

“What, _everything_?” Marinette nodded and Alya sat back. “Well, shit,” was Alya’s only response.

“I don’t think he wanted us to know,” continued Marinette, staring at her shoes. “I don’t think Chloé told him she was going to see me either.”

“But you left with us,” said Alya, stunned. “Did she…? Chloé went to your _house_?” Marinette nodded again. “What did she say? Why? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to embarrass Adrien! I don’t think he meant to listen or anything, but we weren’t exactly being quiet in there. And no offence, but you haven’t exactly been letting him off easy for the Ladybug thing, even after I _told_ you it wasn’t true.”

Alya opened her mouth to protest and then shut it again. “Okay,” she conceded reluctantly. “Fair enough.”

“Anyway, it was just so _weird_ ,” said Marinette, kicking at a pebble. “She was almost being _nice_ to me, if you can believe it.”

Alya snorted derisively. “Okay, now I know you’re pulling my leg.”

“I swear! She came to tell me she heard the argument, wrestled the rest out of Adrien, she _admired_ how I stood up for him, and then she _complimented my hair_.”

Alya blinked. “She did _what_ now?”

Marinette threw up her hands in exasperation. “I know!”

“I mean, you have great hair and all, but _what the hell_?”

“I _know_!”

Alya pursed her lips. “But why bring this up _now_?”

Marinette felt that strange, uncomfortable heat in her stomach rising again. “Because she said something else. I thought at first she was just making fun of me, but—”

“Do I have to kick her ass?”

“I mean, I won’t stop you,” said Marinette. “But… she said he likes me.”

“Oh,” said Alya, her eyes wide. “ _Oh_.”

“I mean, she could have meant anything,” said Marinette hurriedly. “He wouldn’t be my friend if he didn’t like me, right? But the way she said it, and now you…” She trailed off.

Alya was silent for a long time. “I mean,” she said finally, “I was mostly joking, but if _Chloé_ …” She glanced sideways at Marinette. “How do you…?”

Marinette groaned, letting her head fall into her hands. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “A few months ago I would have been on cloud nine, but all I feel right now is…” She searched for the words. “There’s this weight in my chest and I kind of want to run until I throw up.”

Alya hummed thoughtfully.

“It’s just… if he likes me, why did he reject me?” Marinette continued. “If he liked me then, he wouldn’t have shot me down, right?”

“He did have a lot going on,” said Alya gently. “None of us really considered that when it happened.”

“I know, but he said he liked someone else.” Marinette held up a finger when Alya opened her mouth. “And don’t say Ladybug or I will push you off this bench.”

“Maybe he wasn’t sure how he felt,” Alya suggested instead. “And then when he had time to think about it, he realized how awesome and gorgeous you are.”

“Oh God, that makes it _worse_ ,” whined Marinette. “Just when I’m getting over him…” She clutched her hair, and Chat Noir’s face swam in her head. She thought of the necklace in her room, and how tightly he hugged her when she gave him her present.

“We don’t know for sure,” said Alya calmingly. “For all we know, he just has a muscle kink.”

“Alya!”

“Hey, it’s a thing! And honestly, all those flips were making _me_ sweat—”

“ _Alya_!”

“What? You’re one hot tamale.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m just saying, there’s no need to stress out about it.” Alya drummed her fingers on her bottom lip reflectively. “I could ask Nino to do some digging,” she offered. “He’s usually pretty subtle. If you want, I mean.”

Marinette nibbled on the inside of her cheek. “But I don’t _know_ what I want.” She sighed, rubbing her temples.

“Listen, I support your right to drool over Chat Noir just as much as anyone else… _Believe_ me, I do.” Alya scooted a little closer. “But let’s say, hypothetically, that Adrien has finally come to his senses — would that be so bad?”

Marinette hesitated. Adrien had dominated her attention for so long, denying that a part of her still wasn’t over him would be a bald-faced lie. The thought of him confessing to her held a certain attraction, and a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that hey, wasn’t this what she always wanted? Getting her hopes up again was silly, but if Adrien Agreste wanted her this time, did she really have it in her to refuse? Alya was right, in a way; Adrien was a more realistic option for Marinette than Chat Noir ever could be.

But she wasn’t just Marinette either.

“I’ll… think about it,” she said softly. Alya squeezed her hand encouragingly.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Alya said. “It’s up to you. We could be blowing this whole thing out of proportion. And if you’re over him, you’re over him.”

Marinette made a small noise that could have implied agreement, but her mind was elsewhere. She thought of bare hands in Chat’s hair, hot breath on her skin, fingers intertwined and his strong arms around her.

 _‘But you love her,’_ her own voice echoed in the back of her mind.

 _‘Yeah,’_ he chuckled, his eyes warm, _‘I guess I do.’_

“You alright there?” asked Alya, nudging her gently with an elbow to the ribs.

“…Yeah.” She stood, stretched lightly, trying to keep her face as impassive as possible. “I should probably head home.”

“Okay,” said Alya, taking the hint. She gave one last squeeze and smile of reassurance before turning to leave. “Just… don’t go nuts, alright? I’m here if you need to vent.”

Marinette waved goodbye and watched Alya fade into the distance before she deflated, sinking back onto the bench with a groan. “This just keeps getting worse, Tikki,” she mumbled, and her kwami popped tiny head out from her jacket pocket to nuzzle her wrist.

“It will all work out, Marinette,” said Tikki encouragingly. “I know it will.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Marinette heaved a sigh. “I just wish it would work out _faster_.”

“These things can’t be rushed, you know,” Tikki said gently. “Being a teenager can be confusing and hard, but you’ll figure it out. You just have to be patient.”

“I know.”

She knew, deep down, that she was just overthinking things. Adrien liked someone else, and there was nothing to be done. Suddenly _maybe_ finding her physically attractive did not a love-story make. Alya had been aboard the good ship “Adrienette” from day one — this could very well just be her making mountains out of mole-hills, however good her intentions were. And Marinette was over him. Mostly.

He had carefully kept his eyes averted from her own since they left the library; he looked more uncomfortable than _aroused_. But his breath hitched when she leaned over him for the book, and he had seemed _very_ interested in her impending demonstration — although, she reminded herself, that could very well have been nothing more than encouragement. Nino had looked at her with a similar reverence when she prepared to run.

They were _friends_ now. Nothing more. It’s _fine_.

Marinette sighed and stood up. She needed to run again, clear her head. She checked around surreptitiously but the coast was clear, and she jogged lightly out of the park and into an alley.

“Spots on,” she murmured.

Ladybug could handle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this entire chapter listening to [Norwegian](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpJooV7RrMk) [rap](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nLrWMOxtUA) [songs.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3RzrMSrml8) I feel dirty, it's like I'm back in middle school again. (This is probably why I have a headache tbh.) 
> 
> Here's my [tumblr,](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/) if that's your thing.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are explained and I mess with the Love Square.

Adrien lay on his bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling. He had spent the last few hours in a similar position — not out of necessity, but simply because… well, he had no idea. Thinking too hard about the events of the day either fogged his mind, leaving him confused with the feeling he was both forgetting something and going around in maddening circles, or got him thinking about Marinette, which led him into decidedly improper images of her and Ladybug, involving a lot of ass-kicking and questionable uses of yo-yos.

He preferred not to dwell on those thoughts. Cold showers were very uncomfortable.

The headaches he experienced earlier hadn’t returned, but there was something comforting about staring at the ceiling with the lights off. A part of him was restless, wanting nothing more than to run into the night, but a larger part of him couldn’t be bothered. The constant looping of his thoughts was oddly exhausting, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

He was forgetting something. It was becoming infuriating.

“I’m forgetting something,” he murmured. The thought was mostly voiced for his own benefit, as if saying the fact aloud would magically present a solution, but Plagg gave a grunt in answer.

“That’s kind of the point, kid.”

Adrien sat up, furrowing his brow at his kwami, who had been half-dozing on the bed beside him. “What?”

“I said,” Plagg repeated, rolling over without bothering to open his eyes, “that’s kind of the point.”

“No, I heard what you said.” Adrien picked him up and brought him to eye level. “What do you mean, _that’s the point_? The point of what?”

“The magic,” grumbled Plagg, as if it was obvious. “You’re not supposed to remember.”

“Wait, so all that was…” The metaphorical wheels in Adrien’s head whirled madly. He stared at Plagg, who was still pretending to be asleep. “This is about Ladybug? About the magic? Is that why I’ve been having headaches and—”

Plagg yawned. “You already know all this,” he said. “Why are you interrogating me? Your redhead friend already explained it to you better than I can.”

“But if I’ve been — and she… Plagg!” Adrien nearly squashed the kwami in his excitement. “Does this mean Marinette is Ladybug?”

“Even if she was, I couldn’t tell you,” said Plagg in a disgruntled tone. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Oh my God,” breathed Adrien. He dropped Plagg, who landed in his lap with a squeak. “But she… And _I_ … Oh no.” She _confessed_ to him. And if she was… _‘She cried on my shoulder about…’_

“Hold your horses, kid,” said Plag, annoyed, crawling to a more dignified position perched on his chosen’s knee. “Calm down for a second.”

“ _Calm down_? How am I supposed to _calm down_ at a time like this? She—”

“ _Listen_ , will you?” Adrien reined himself in as much as he could, although his mind was still reeling. The muscles and the hair and the kickflips all made sense now. An image of Ladybug swam in his mind, as clearly as if she was standing right in front of him, and Marinette stood beside her and they were melding together, seamlessly becoming one…

He hissed in pain as a white-hot throbbing erupted behind his eyes, instinctively clutching at his forehead. The image — of _what_? — vanished along with the pain and he sat back, dazed, blinking vaguely in the darkness. He was forgetting something.

“I’m sorry, what were we talking about?” he asked. They had been talking, hadn’t they?

“Will you stop that?” said Plagg crossly.

“Stop what?”

“Stop trying to figure out who Ladybug is,” he explained impatiently. “You’ll only make it worse.”

Adrien frowned. “Make what worse? Is that where the headaches are coming from?”

Plagg groaned. “Okay,” he muttered. “How can I put this in a way you’ll understand?” He floated up to look Adrien in the eye. “You want to find out who Ladybug is, right?”

“Of course,” said Adrien instantly.

“Well, you can’t unless she wants you to, so there’s no point in trying. That pain you’ve been feeling? It’s the magic telling you to back off.”

“But that means I’m close, right?” said Adrien, and he could hardly even summon the slightest amount of shame at how desperate and _pleading_ he sounded. “Alya didn’t say—”

“Will you let me finish?” He fell silent as Plagg continued. “The point of the magic is to hide your identity. And it will use any means necessary to do so.”

“But Alya didn’t get headaches this bad,” Adrien objected. “Not according to what she told me, anyway. And I’m pretty sure she would have mentioned something like that.”

Plagg snorted. “That’s because she was focusing on _you_ , and you don’t care.”

“Of course I care,” said Adrien hotly.

Plagg waved a paw dismissively. “No, you don’t.” He floated over to Adrien’s desk and lounged there, eyes glowing brightly in the gloom. “Think of it this way: if you did, the magic would affect people stronger than it does. Which it doesn’t, so you don’t.” Adrien opened his mouth to protest but Plagg shot him a look. “Deep down, you want people to know. Or at least, you wouldn’t mind if _certain people_ found out. The magic has its own protections — people in general aren’t _supposed_ to know. But the magic _also_ knows how deeply you want to protect the secret, and adjusts penalties accordingly.”

Adrien furrowed his brow. “So what about Marinette?” he asked. “If my head splits open and I forget stuff…”

“Like forgetting you’re in the middle of a conversation?” said Plagg drily.

“…Does that mean that Marinette could be Ladybug?”

Plagg sighed. “All it means is that something reminded you of her,” he said in the most patient voice Adrien had ever heard him use. “Remember, misdirection is part of the magic. And Ladybug _really_ doesn’t want anyone to know. I’m sure if your writer friend tried digging into _her_ as much as she was trying to dig into you, she would have ended up with much more than just a few minor inconveniences.”

Adrien frowned. “What do you mean? She’s not going to figure me out, is she?”

Plagg shrugged. “I have no idea.” He stretched lazily, whiskers twitching. “She can’t just stumble across your identity, not like that. But it certainly won’t deter her as much as it would if you cared as much as Ladybug does. Harder to forget and all that. The magic is old and powerful, but the effects are pretty basic.” He gestured vaguely. “Forgetfulness, distractions. False ideas. Headaches.”

Adrien deflated, falling back on his bed with a thump. “So Marinette’s not Ladybug,” he said.

Plagg curled up, clearly having depleted his frankly astonishing supply of eloquence for the day. “Who knows?” he said cryptically.

There was a bit of relief mixed in with the disappointment, and his gut twisted. If she wasn’t Ladybug, his Lady was still a mystery to him. But, oh God, if she _was_ — he tried not to think about the possibility. She couldn’t be Ladybug. That was ridiculous. So what if she was gorgeous and kind and strong in more ways than one? She was just Marinette, his sweet friend whose heart he broke.

They looked so similar, though…

A vague haze washed over him. _No_! He shook his head to clear it. Marinette was just Marinette. Or was she? His mind was fogging over again.

“You really need to stop that,” said Plagg again.

“I’m trying,” said Adrien through gritted teeth, screwing his eyes shut.

“Go get me some cheese,” Plagg suggested. “If you need something else to focus on.”

“I need to run.”

Plagg sniffed. “How do you expect to keep transforming willy-nilly if you never feed me?”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Ladybug would make him feel better.

Chat found her pacing the top of the Eiffel Tower. “Evening, my Lady,” he said, alighting easily on the platform near her.

“Hey, Chat,” she answered distractedly. She didn’t stop pacing.

“Everything all right?”

She stopped and looked at him, like she was registering his presence for the first time. “Oh, yeah, of course,” she said, and smiled. “I’m fine.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“You don’t _seem_ fine,” he said.

She sighed and rolled her shoulders. “Sorry, just… a lot on my mind. I’ve been out for a while and I’m kind of tired.”

“Anything I can help with?” He leaned over with his back to the railing. “I’m pretty good at listening, you know. I’ve even been known offer advice, on occasion.”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “Oh, really?”

He grinned and shrugged. “It happens.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she teased, but she seemed distant, staring vaguely into the horizon.

“Hey.” He brushed a stray bit of hair out of her eyes and tilted her chin up gently to meet his eyes. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” She leaned just a bit into his touch and smiled again, more genuine this time. “Thanks, kitty, but I’m alright.” She squeezed his hand gently. “Now,” she said, straightening, and he mourned the loss of her warmth. “Let’s get that patrol started, shall we?”

“Patrol” went smoothly as it always did, but she seemed distracted the rest of the week. Chat didn’t push, even though every part of him wanted to. She was distant, lapsing into silence more often than not, and their meetups involved less playful chases and more actual patrolling for once. She seemed to be pulling away from him, and she wouldn’t tell him why.

School wasn’t much better. Alya barely mentioned Ladybug at all over the next few days — even in passing — which was nice, but the atmosphere between Adrien and Marinette seemed strained again. It wasn’t quite as bad as it was before Christmas, she wasn’t outright _avoiding_ him, but that somehow made it worse.

He couldn’t figure out where he went wrong this time — he was certain she hadn’t caught him staring at the library, but maybe she’d picked up on something else? It wasn’t _his_ fault he thought she was pretty, and he did his best to suppress it, but maybe he was sending out signals he hadn’t even realized. If that was the case, he completely understood her distance; she had had ample time to get over him and even the slightest bit of attraction, however superficial and physical that hypothetical attraction may be, would be off-putting and awkward.

But at the same time, she seemed more preoccupied than anything else, and she and Alya could be spotted from a distance at the beginning of lunch breaks, huddled together and conversing in terse whispers that broke off as soon as he and Nino approached. In the group, Alya and Nino carried most of the conversations, Marinette interjecting only occasionally. Adrien did his best to engage her, asking questions about the designs she sketched absently at lunch, but she offered very little, smiling vaguely at his praise but was otherwise quiet and closed off.

He finally broached the topic to Nino one day after school, after waving goodbye to the girls on the sidewalk. “Have you noticed anything… _different_ about Marinette lately?” he asked awkwardly as they walked down the street in the opposite direction.

“Uh… I don’t know.” Nino took an energy drink out of his bag and cracked open the can. “She’s been drawing a lot lately, but other than that, no. Why do you ask?”

Adrien sighed. “I just feel like she’s avoiding me again. Not physically, but… It’s like she’s ignoring me but trying not to be rude about it.”

Nino pursed his lips. “I guess, now that you mention it… You haven’t been a jerk when I wasn’t looking, have you?”

“Not that I know of.”

He shook his head and took a sip. “Girls are weird. She’ll probably get over it.”

Adrien snorted. “Thanks,” he said drily. “That was really helpful.”

Nino shrugged. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you, man. Alya hasn’t said anything, and Marinette is kind of weird in general. Not in a bad way,” he added quickly, “she’s just… an open book sometimes, and other times it’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking. I can ask Alya if you really want, but if you haven’t done anything then maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with you. No offence.”

Adrien hummed noncommittally. It was a little selfish, he supposed, assuming she was avoiding him. They’d been rocky for a while now, on and off. He could very well be reading too much into the situation, especially with Ladybug being so distant as well. What was it about him that kept driving people away?

Ladybug… He wished she trusted him more. He had no doubt that, should it come to that, she would put her life in his hands without question, but there was still a barrier there; an invisible line she seemed unwilling to cross. He wanted her to tell him what she was thinking, he wanted to be the one to give her all the answers to her problems, but he couldn’t do that if she didn’t let him. There were things he couldn’t ask, and things she couldn’t tell him — of _course_ he understood that, respected it — but if she pulled away, how could he fix it if he didn’t know what was wrong?

And even disregarding her similarities with his partner, the whole confusing hormonal mess that was Marinette and her subtle six-pack just made everything worse.

“Do you think Marinette’s pretty?” he blurted out.

Nino choked on his energy drink. “ _What_?” he spluttered, soda dripping down his face.

“Sorry,” said Adrien sheepishly. “I just… She is, isn’t she?”

“Woah, woah, _that_ took a very sharp turn,” said Nino, wiping his chin roughly. “First of all, where the _hell_ is this coming from?”

Adrien felt the heat rising in his face and looked away. “I… I don’t know,” he said, ears burning. We were in the library and I just kind of… noticed? I guess? And then at the skate park—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” said Nino, holding up a hand. “This is a very dark road you are going down, my friend.”

“I know,” said Adrien quietly.

“So… what? Do you have a crush on her now, or something? A little late to the party, don’t you think?”

Adrien raked a hand through his hair. “No? I mean, not really. Even if I did, I know she’s moved on, but like… It’s like I just woke up one day and realized she was hot.”

Nino blinked at him. “ _Hot_?” he repeated.

Adrien scrambled for the words. “It’s like, I knew she was pretty before, right? Like, objectively. And then something clicked and she was like, _really_ pretty. Kind of like Alya but more—”

“ _And_ stop talking,” said Nino. “You’re just digging yourself deeper, you know that, right?”

Adrien buried his face in his hands. “I know,” he said miserably.

Nino grabbed him by the shoulder. “Bro, what happened? Where is all this coming from?”

“I don’t know! I don’t even _like_ her like that.” _‘I think. I’m pretty sure. Probably.’_ “She’s just… pretty, y’know? Attractive. Physically.”

Nino let his arm drop. “You want to bang her.”

Oh God. Repressed images of Ladybug in that skimpy swimsuit she had teased him with returned, only now Marinette had joined her and they were… His face burned. “No!” he said loudly. “No, of course not!”

“Uh-huh,” said Nino in a wholly unconvinced tone. He slung an arm around Adrien’s neck. “Take my advice, man. You don’t want to go there. No matter how hot you suddenly think she is, that ship has sailed.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts,” said Nino firmly. “Listen to me. She liked you. For a long time. _You shot her down_ , remember? Crawling back when she’s finally gotten off the Agreste Express is just asking for trouble.”

“The _Agreste Express_?”

“Just let it go, dude. Admire her from afar, do what you gotta do, but _leave it_ , okay? Do you really want her to start avoiding you for real again?”

“…No.”

Nino clapped him on the shoulder. “Good.”

They continued their walk in silence, Adrien’s face still steaming. _‘Nice going,’_ he mocked himself. _‘Real smooth.’_ He had no doubt that this was going straight to Alya. Even if he made Nino swear up and down not to tell a soul, she would sniff out the secret immediately and weasel it out of him. Nino was a good friend, but a terrible liar. And then Adrien would once again be at the mercy of the redheaded reporter, who seemed to have an inexplicable knack for getting a lot of incriminating information about him, specifically.

The universe really had a wonderful sense of humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia is, like, so much fun you guys ~~i feel like death~~
> 
> We're closing in on 100k!! Shoot me some oneshot prompts on [my tumblr](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/) if you feel like it. I can't guarantee I can fill them all, but I'm starting to get tunnel vision on this fic and it would be cool to stretch my metaphorical writing legs a bit. (Side note: should I start posting the updates/oneshots on Tumblr too? I can't decide.)
> 
> I also have an [art blog](http://bloodandpurpleink.tumblr.com/) where you can send me requests if that's more your jam. I've taken to scribbling some fanart when I can't write.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I give exactly zero fucks and give y'all 10,600+ words (!!) of... _this_ because breaking up chapters is for QUITTERS GODDAMMIT. MOMMA DIDN'T RAISE NO QUITTER.

Chat was acting weird.

He seemed quieter than usual, half-heartedly waving her off when they parted ways, and it was only when she dropped into her room one night two weeks later and reflected on the situation that she realized that despite seeing each other every day, they’d barely spoken at all. The Adrien situation was distracting her so much she hadn’t even noticed.

The realization made her want to punch herself. Here she was _again_ , too wrapped up in herself to pay attention to the fact that her partner was clearly struggling with something.

 _Again_.

She had to be the absolute _worst_ friend _ever_.

Adrien Agreste should not be occupying her mind as much as he was. Silly daydreams about the handsome, internationally-famous model that used to sit in front of her at school was for flighty collège girls, not someone who’d already had her heart broken by him once before. She was almost eighteen for crying out loud. A few blushes relayed to her second-hand and a snide comment about her appearance did not a budding romance make. She was _over_ him. She had to be.

Marinette sighed and flopped back on her bed. _‘Or am I?’_ her treacherous mind quipped. She pulled a pillow over her face and groaned.

Alya was doing her best to help her work through it, but since Marinette couldn’t tell her the _whole_ story it was kind of like asking her to critique an art piece without her glasses on. She spent every private moment at school dissecting every part of Adrien’s behavior since the skate park two weeks ago and seemed utterly unconcerned with the fact that he'd _passed out_  — or had been very close to it — which could have accounted for his bizarre behavior that day.

She was convinced Adrien was one “gun show” away from declaring his undying love for her, or at least — and here Marinette blushed furiously beneath the safe cover of cotton — declaring a strong desire to take her in a manly fashion. Alya’s words, not hers. The thought of him touching her _anywhere_ even slightly undressed threatened to send her into fits.

And Alya had no idea about Chat, which was just another layer to an already towering shit sandwich. Almost no idea, anyway. It was, as far as she knew, a celebrity crush, and when there was an imagined possibility of an actual, tangible boy that _didn’t_ strut around in skintight leather… Well, her silly little Mari-Chat fantasy took a backseat to _that_ , didn’t it?

But the way he held her was hardly _imaginary_. The way their hands fit together like pieces to a puzzle, the weight of his head in her lap and the quirk of his grin when he called her his Lady… Sure, she might not be a hundred percent sure where she had him, but the way he looked at her on the Eiffel Tower when she teased him about Dark Cupid was pretty hard to miss, or the quip about skinnydipping — all pink cheeks and slack jaw and hungry eyes… Like he wanted to see exactly how small of a swimsuit she could _possibly_ fit into…

A sudden image of Chat Noir in a speedo popped into her head, tail and all, and refused to budge. Oh God. She could see it now. Him slinking towards her with that stupid smirk on his face, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as his hands — still gloved for some reason — wandered and roamed to… other places…

Oh no. Oh dear. This was _not_ where she intended this to go.

Imagining him partially naked was not, however, quite as weird and off-putting as imagining Adrien in a similar… _position_. Maybe it was the fact that he had hit on her so regularly since the day they met, or that their partnership had always relied so heavily on physical intimacy right from the start. Their flirtatious exchanges, especially after she began toying with him back, had developed a definite sexual undertone as they aged — a not-entirely unforeseen side effect of two teenagers running around in skintight costumes all through puberty. The thought was exciting and nerve-wracking in equal measure.

Her placement of Adrien on a metaphorical pedestal for so many years might have something to do with it as well — it was hard to divorce the assumptions of purity and chivalrous intent from the very _real_ person she saw on a daily basis. He was still a teenage boy, for goodness’ sake. The fact that all her dreamy romance fantasies revolved around sappy declarations of love and ignored the basic facts of hormones and hypothetical sex-drives was more a personal failing on her part. Just because she’d failed to consider it didn’t necessarily mean it wouldn’t have come up at some point, in a theoretical alternate universe in which he hadn’t rejected her advances.

She realized, belatedly, that she was completely unprepared for such an outcome. All of her dream-spots involving marriage and hamsters aside, she came to the startling conclusion that she’d had no idea what to do with him when she’d caught him, even less so now if he for some reason were so inclined. The logistics behind beginning and maintaining a relationship had always seemed less important for some reason, the idea being that it would all… work itself out, somehow. Things like sex had never really occurred to her. Not that she hadn’t, y’know, been attracted to him _like that_ , but it had always taken a backseat to her utter infatuation with everything else about him. The fact that he even had genitalia was a vaguely disconcerting thought.

Chat, on the other hand… He’d always oozed confidence, knowing _exactly_ how attractive he was and somehow at the same time being completely unconcerned about that fact. He was like one of those love-interests in a teenage romance novel, but his awareness and subsequent dismissal of his own physical attributes came off less like douchebaggery and more effortless, like he considered it a simple fact of life — an enjoyable side-effect of existing, but not something he ever felt the need to draw attention to, pick-up lines and overdramatic flexing aside.

The suit his Miraculous gave him wasn’t much help, either.

Marinette felt her cheeks burn again as she remembered the feel of his muscles under her fingertips. The suit really left very little to the imagination and the fact that he seemed to be filling out _quite_ nicely as he aged did nothing to dissuade her fluttering stomach from tying into delicious knots. Thinking of him as a sexual being wasn’t that much of a leap.

The way he moved in battle, fluid and slightly wild, muscles working and rippling under black leather made her heart beat faster just by remembering.

Shit. Getting sidetracked.

It was too late to go out and find him again to correct her mistakes of the day — _‘Weeks,’_ her brain corrected unhelpfully. She’d have to make up for it tomorrow.

School was the same as always, but she noticed for the first time a hint of tension in the air as the foursome gathered for their break. Alya and Nino were chattering like nothing was wrong, but Adrien was withdrawn, very carefully avoiding eye contact with the group. Seriously, how self-absorbed did she have to be to not notice _this_? How long had it been going on? She decided to break the ice.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked hesitantly.

He looked up at her from his fruit salad, an expression of genuine surprise evident in his wide eyes. “Y-yeah,” he said, voice cracking almost imperceptibly. He cleared his throat. “I — yeah, I’m good. How are you?”

“I’m alright,” she replied, taken aback. “What’s, uh, what's with the fruit?” Nice.

“Diet,” he said darkly.

“That… sucks,” she said, a little lamely. “So… um, what else is new?”

“Nothing, nothing much,” he said, a little too quickly. “Got a show coming up, that’s all.”

“A big one?” she asked with interest. Fashion Week was drawing to a close but she hadn’t heard he would be involved — considering his father’s brand was one of the biggest names in the business she shouldn’t have been surprised, but you never knew.

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I’m trying to get out of it though.”

“What? Why?”

He cracked a lopsided grin and her stomach dropped just a smidge. “Feathers,” he said almost apologetically, by way of explanation. She hadn't known feathers were a part of the spring collection…

“Oh.” She’d forgotten he was allergic. It was funny, she’d never met anyone with a feather allergy before. Nobody except him and Chat…

A funny haze came over her, wiping the thought away.

Adrien waved a hand in front of her face. “Hey, you alright there?”

“No, yeah, I’m fine,” she said vaguely, waving his concern away. “Just spaced out for a second there.” There was a tiny blank spot in her memory and it irked her. Something about feathers…

“Oh, okay.” They lapsed into silence again. Marinette turned back to her sketchbook, the moment ruined.

She sketched birds and cats the rest of the afternoon.

When school was out Alya invited her to go out for coffee but she politely declined, citing a neglected pile of homework waiting in her room. It wasn’t a complete lie, exactly — algebraic formulas did not learn themselves, after all — but she had to figure out how to talk to Chat later tonight. She’d been neglecting her _chaton_ for too long.

The hours crawled by until sunset, Marinette staring vaguely at the clock with her books open, unread. She tapped an absent staccato rhythm with her pencil as her mind wandered. What could have happened to her kitty?

“Are you feeling alright, Marinette?” chirped Tikki from her bed.

Marinette started. “Sorry, Tikki, just spacing out.” She sighed. “Just waiting for it to be dark, I guess.” She peered out her window and the sky was indeed darker, although partially due to the heavy cloud cover that had rolled in. _‘Oh great,’_ she thought dejectedly. A downpour was exactly the kind of thing that would cut her outing short.

Tikki floated gently down and came to rest on Marinette’s shoulder, appraising the weather. “Are you sure you want to go out tonight?” she asked. “It looks awful.”

Marinette nodded. “I need to talk to Chat,” she said, pushing out from her desk. “I guess I should go now if I don’t want to get wet.” She ran her fingers through her loose hair absently, pulling it into a ponytail — or partially, until the elastic snapped, flicking her painfully on the wrist. She hissed sharply.

“What was that?”

“Just my rubber band.” She rubbed her wrist gingerly, tossing the ruined hair tie in the trash can and looking vaguely around her room for another. There was nothing immediately visible so she gave up and clambered up the stairs to her bed, opening the trapdoor to the cool evening air.

“I’m sure you can find another one,” said Tikki. “I think there was one on your desk…”

Marinette shrugged and hauled herself onto her balcony, closing the trapdoor gently behind her. “I probably won’t be out long,” she said. “No way am I getting caught out in _this_ rain.” She shuddered at the thought. Spring was on its way, but the nights hadn’t quite gotten the memo. Even in her thick sweatshirt and jeans the steadily cooling air was biting into her, and she would only get colder when wet. “Spots on,” she murmured. The transformation helped immensely, but she wouldn’t want to find out how well her suit preserved heat when soaked.

She set off.

Ladybug found him quite randomly, swinging his legs off the edge of a building and gazing out over the horizon. He didn’t appear to notice her. “Hey, Chat,” she said, alighting on the rooftop next to him.

He glanced up briefly. “Hey,” he replied, a quick smile flashing across his face. He looked… tired. Not physically, but there was something just behind his eyes. She sat down next to him.

“Looks like rain,” she commented, nodding vaguely at the heavy clouds.

He hummed noncommittally. “I guess.”

Poor kitty — something was definitely up. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

“Who, me? Pfft, I’m fine.” He waved her off.

“Come on, Chat. What’s up?” She looked at him sternly. “You promised you’d tell me if something was wrong, remember?”

He hesitated. “What’s wrong with _you_?” he countered instead.

She tutted at him. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Well, you’ve been so quiet lately. I’m worried about you.”

Ladybug pursed her lips. “Is that what’s been bothering you?”  _‘Ooh, guilt,’_ she thought darkly as the feeling welled up inside her.  _‘_ _Hello darkness, my old friend.’_

He shrugged. “It’s part of it, I guess. You’ve been kinda… _not there_ lately. I figured you were dealing with something. Or…” He trailed off and shrugged again. “So what’s bugging you, Bug?” He quirked a half-grin at her and she giggled in spite of herself.

“That’s terrible,” she said.

“I try.”

“It’s nothing, really.” She dropped her head gently on his shoulder and he leaned into her touch slightly. Her heart fluttered slightly at the casual intimacy. “Just boys again.”

He sighed dramatically. “You and your horde of admirers,” he lamented. “How does a poor cat have a chance?”

She felt her ears heat up and struggled to keep her voice level. “Just the one, actually,” she said. “ _Potential_ admirer, really.” _‘Maybe two,’_ she mused, and suppressed the thought.

“Is this by any chance the same idiot who broke my Lady’s heart?”

She laughed. “He’s not an idiot,” she chastised. “But yes, unfortunately. He’s been acting really weird lately. And now my other friend thinks he might like me too, so it’s a little harder to ignore than when Ch— that _girl_ I hate said so.”

Chat was quiet for a moment. “How do you feel about that, then?” he asked finally.

She huffed through her nose. “I don’t know.”

He glanced down at her. “You don’t know?”

“I just…” Ladybug shrugged lopsidedly. How could she explain her dilemma in the vaguest way possible? _‘You could just tell him,’_ part of her mind suggested. No, she couldn’t do that, not without admitting her crush on _him_. On _Chat_. To his _face_. Confessing again? Ridiculous. She didn’t even like him _that_ much, did she? And she couldn’t risk losing him, not like that.

 _‘He_ has _been flirting with you for years,’_ Tikki’s voice reminded her gently in her memory. _‘You don’t know he’ll reject you, Marinette.’_

No. Nope. Not risking it.

“It’s like… On the one hand, he’s still pretty and all, and we’re friends again. He’s a good person. I like him.” Chat was quiet, looking out over the rooftops, but she felt him stiffen ever so slightly so she pressed on hurriedly, “I just don’t know if I like him like _that_ anymore.”

He relaxed almost immediately and Ladybug felt a tiny thrill in the pit of her stomach, even though his face remained impassive. “Yeah?”

“It’s like I said, right?” she continued lightly, peeking up at him through her lashes. “It’s a little late, don’t you think?”

There was a small part of her — a tiny, very stubborn part of her, shrinking every day — that still pined for Adrien, no matter how hard she tried to squash it. It was probably the sole reason she’d been reading so much into the whole mess, why she was letting Alya hype her up so much. She didn’t want to, but there it was.

But Chat didn’t need to know that.

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. “You think so?”

“It’s been, what, six months? Seven? I already asked him out, he said no, I’m getting over it. Going back now…” She settled closer and he instantly shifted position to accommodate her, draping an arm loosely over her shoulder. He was so warm, his steady breathing a comforting rhythm. “Well, that would just be silly, wouldn’t it?”

He chuckled, the low rumble in his chest sending the tiniest of shivers down her spine. “If you say so, Bug.”

“I _do_ say so, actually.” She tapped his bell softly and glanced up at him. “Now it’s your turn, _chaton_. Go on, spill.”

He pursed his lips, chewing absently on the inside of his cheek. “I hate to bring this up, but…”

She jabbed him playfully in the ribs. “C’mon, kitty cat. What’s on your mind?”

He sighed. “It’s about your identity,” he admitted.

Ladybug stilled, the warmth in her stomach souring slightly. “Chat…” she began.

“I haven’t been digging, I swear,” he said hurriedly. “Well, not on purpose, at least.”

Her hand fell from his chest and she turned her head to look at him properly. He seemed uncomfortable, but didn’t shy away from her gaze. “What do you mean?” she asked warily.

“There’s this… girl I know,” he said haltingly.

Ladybug furrowed her brow. “What about her?”

“She — she reminds me of you,” he said, the tone of his voice suggesting a shameful confession instead of a casual observation.

She blinked. “Is that it?” she asked in surprise.

“What do you mean, ‘ _is that it’_?” He swallowed. “She _reminds_ me of you. As in she _triggered the magic_ reminds me of you.”

Ladybug hovered for a moment. “…Okay?” she said hesitantly. “So, what? This girl put her hair in pigtails and you got a little woozy? That’s not a big deal.”

Chat waved a hand dismissively. “No, it was more than that. It’s… It was bad. It felt like someone was stabbing me through the eyes. I almost blacked out.”

“Oh my _God_ , Chat, are you okay?” The apprehension snapped instantly to concern and she immediately began inspecting him, even though he was clearly fine. Physically anyway.

“No, please, I’m fine,” he said, although he didn’t pull away as she cupped his face. “It’s _fine_ , it was a couple of weeks ago.”

“Did you talk to your kwami about it?” she questioned insistently. “What was his name? Plague?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I talked to _Plagg_ ,” he assured her.

“What did he say?”

Chat sobered up and looked uncomfortable again. “He said the magic… adjusts,” he said.

“Adjusts?” She pursed her lips, and he touched one of her hands, not quite caressing the back of it but pressing it gently into his cheek. “What do you mean, it _adjusts_?”

“You remember what I told you when Alya showed me her research? About me?” Ladybug nodded. “Well, the magic can tell how badly you want to protect the secret from certain people, so it adjusts.”

She let her free hand drop. “What are you saying?” she asked slowly.

“You _really_ want to protect your secret,” he said, seeming almost reluctant. “So your effects are stronger. Like _way_ stronger.”

Ladybug sat back, only Chat’s careful grip keeping her other hand from dropping as well. Her head was spinning. She’d have to confer with Tikki to be sure, but he seemed to be implying that not only was her staunch willingness to protect her identity giving the magic enough power to _hurt_ people, to hurt _him_ … Not that _that_ wasn’t mindblowing enough, but the flip-side of that seemed to be since Alya had been actively digging into him and hadn’t reported any side effects quite so severe, that must mean Chat… _didn’t care_.

No. No, that couldn’t be.

“What are you saying?” she said again, unable to come up with anything better. It was partly rhetorical, but partly not.

“What I’m saying is…” He chewed his cheek again, lowering her hand to hold it properly. “What I’m saying is, your conviction is really, really strong. And that’s good, I guess. It’s a bigger deterrent.”

There was a “but” in here somewhere. “But…?” she prompted suspiciously.

He sighed. “It’s kind of a pain, to be honest.” His mouth twitched.

“This is no time for jokes,” she snapped.

His face fell slightly. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“So what does this mean?” she asked, a little gentler this time. “My effects are stronger than yours?”

“I guess.” He shrugged half-heartedly. “That’s what my kwami says, anyway.”

“Is it because of my Miraculous?” She couldn’t wrap her head around it. It _had_ to be something else — it couldn’t just be a side-effect of _wishing_ too hard. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. “Since we have different powers, maybe that’s affecting it?”

“I don’t think so. Not according to Plagg, anyway. I got the same stuff as Alya, just… _more._ ” He squeezed her hand slightly. “It’s just that you… care a lot, I guess. Subconsciously. The magic can sense it. Plagg sort of implied that it can change from person to person. Like, who you want to find out more. Or less.” Was she imagining it, or did he sound almost hurt?

“What about you?” she demanded.

He looked taken aback. “What about me?”

“I have stronger effects than you.”

“Yeah, and?”

“ _And_ ,” she said accusingly, “you said it’s because I care a lot. What about you?”

“Are you asking if I _care_? About my _secret identity_ being discovered?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking, Chat. If Alya was Photoshopping your face and barely got a headache, while a girl walks by you and you almost _pass out_ — don’t you see a little problem here?”

“She wasn’t just _walking by_ ,” muttered Chat.

It may have just been a trick of the dusk lighting, but she thought she caught a hint of pink in his cheeks beneath his mask. A twinge of unexpected jealousy rose in her throat like bile. “Oh really?” she said icily. “What was she doing, then?”

“It’s not important,” said Chat defensively. “The point is that your side of the magic is ridiculously strong. Any stronger and you might have given me an aneurysm.”

“ _I_ might have — how is that _my_ fault?” spluttered Ladybug.

“It’s not your _fault_ , it’s just _your_ side of the magic,” he pointed out. “It’s coming from _you_.”

“Well _I_ can’t control it!” she retorted. “I didn’t even know!”

“You do now,” he countered. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but you might wanna — I don’t know, tone it down a notch or something?”

Ladybug bristled. “ _Tone it down_?” she repeated incredulously. “What, like I can just flip a switch? If it were that easy, I’d suggest _you_ turn it _up_ a notch!”

“Hey,” he protested.

“Don’t _‘hey’_ me!” She snatched her hand out of his grasp. “I’m _sorry_ that I’m _terrified_ someone’s going to find us out. What if someone discovers who we are and gets Akumatized? What if one of _us_ gets Akumatized? Do we even know if that can happen?”

“We won’t,” said Chat.

“But how do you _know_?”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” he said instantly, confidently. “To either of us.”

“That’s not something you can promise,” she said angrily. “It’s not exactly voluntary. Or predictable.”

“It _is_ , and I _am_.” His jaw was set and his eyes were hard. She almost faltered.

“What if it gets back to Hawkmoth?” she asked, her voice turning almost pleading in spite of herself. “What then? What if _he_ sees us, or tries to look for us? He’s not a supervillain all the time, he’s has a civilian side like us. We don’t even know what he looks like _with_ his powers, let alone without them. And in case you hadn’t noticed, he _really_ wants to find us.”

“So does Alya,” he pointed out, “and _she_ hasn’t come very far.”

“That’s hardly the point!” Her pitch was rising and she fought to keep it under control. “Alya is a teenager at lycée with a superhero fascination! As far as we know, Hawkmoth has nothing else to do but obsess over us, and he might even know more than us about magic. One of us is going to find the other first, it’s only a matter of time.”

Chat raked a hand through his hair. “The magic is person-by-person,” he said exasperatedly. “If there’s one person in the world who absolutely _won’t_ find out by accident, it’s freaking _Hawkmoth_.”

“Person-by-person _as far as you know_ ,” she corrected. “And clearly we can’t be sure about _you_ , since Alya doesn’t seem to be having a whole lot of trouble. You _do_ know she won’t stop, right?”

“She hasn’t found out either, has she?” Chat countered. “And how do you know she won’t? She promised.”

Ladybug bit back the “Because she told me!” on the tip of her tongue. “What were her exact words?” she said instead.

“She said she’d… keep it off the Ladyblog…” He trailed off and swore viciously under his breath.

“Exactly.” She felt a fleeting, sickly sense of something like triumph in spite of herself. “And even if she doesn’t post anything, she’s already been Akumatized twice. Who’s to say it won’t happen again?” Her gut writhed as the words left her mouth. She hated throwing Alya under the bus like this, but he _needed_ to understand how serious this was. “You’re vulnerable here,” she said when he didn’t respond. “She’s already on to you, or she thinks she is. She won’t give up on this.”

Chat opened his mouth, closed it again, and let out another stream of barely audible curses.

Her own words rattled around in her head, echoing an endless chorus of “ _vulnerable_ ” over and over. _She’d_ made him vulnerable. Her big mouth had started all this. Yes, they got useful information about their own powers their kwamis had both — for whatever reason — neglected to mention for going on four years, but at what cost? If Chat didn’t care that Alya discovered him, a girl he barely knew, who could say where the metaphorical lines went in his head as far as the magic was concerned? The known threat of Hawkmoth accidentally stumbling across him had increased radically. She’d put him squarely in the crosshairs, accidental slip-of-the-tongue or no. Alya was a juggernaut when she got an idea into her head, however benign her intentions were. Even if Marinette had managed to convince her to hold off temporarily, it was only a matter of time before she honed in on the scent again.

The most she could do now was try to make him realize the gravity of the situation as best she could.

“Fine,” Chat said grudgingly. He raked a hand absently through his hair again. “I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise,” he said impatiently. “Of course I promise.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. She laid a gentle hand on his knee and he squeezed it without looking. Thick fog was rolling in, blanketing the horizon in an opaque grey haze. “Listen, I’m—”

“Ladybug,” he said suddenly, “why did it affect me so much?”

Her apology died on her tongue, replaced by confusion. “What?”

“Why _me_?” He turned to her, his eyes nearly glowing in the steadily growing darkness. “Why did the magic affect _me_ so much?”

“I — I don’t know,” she stammered. “We don’t know for sure about the person-by-person thing…”

“We _do_ ,” he insisted. “ _I_ do. I know what Plagg said.” There was no anger in his face, only hurt and something unidentifiable behind it. “Why don’t you want me to know?”

“We’ve talked about this, Chat,” she said wearily. “It’s not just you. Nobody can know. Not even each other, not yet. We agreed.”

“I’m not asking you to drop your transformation right _now_.” His tone was pleading almost. “But… am I really going to have blinding pain and amnesia every time I see someone that _might_ remind me of you?”

She wanted to say a decisive “No.” She could have said an optimistic “I hope not.” What came out instead was a wavering, uncertain, “I don’t know.”

“Ladybug…” he said, squeezing her hand slightly as he met her eyes. “Why don’t you trust me?”

She opened her mouth and closed it again. “Of course I trust you,” she said indignantly. “What kind of a question is that?”

“I — I know you trust me. I just… You don’t _trust_ me.”

“Chat,” she said insistently. “I _do_.”

“No, you _don’t_ , deep down. Not with _this_.”

“I don’t trust _anyone_ with _this_.” She felt herself getting defensive now.

“I don’t mean—” He exhaled forcefully through his nose and looked up at the sky. “I don’t mean unmasking. Not right now. But you don’t trust me enough to live with even the slightest hint? _Accidental_ hints?”

“I can’t control that like you want me to,” she protested.

“You want _me_ to.”

She flushed at her own inadvertent hypocrisy. “Putting your guard up in general is one thing,” she said carefully. “Tearing down imaginary walls for one specific person when we don’t even completely understand the magic behind them is completely different.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he countered.

“But it _is_.”

“But say that you could,” he implored. “Humor me. Pretend for a minute that what I’m saying is possible — you can let your guard down for one person. Why not me?”

“Chat…” She trailed off helplessly.

“I know you’re not ready for a full reveal,” he reassured her quickly. “I respect that. I would never, _ever_ try to look for you. I just wish you could trust that.”

“I _do_ , Chat.” She _did_. All the same, it sounded wrong in her ears when she said it aloud. Almost like a lie.

It wasn’t, not really, but it felt like one.

“I mean, I trust _you_ ,” he rambled on, letting go of her hand to run his fingers through his hair again. “I guess I haven’t cared as much as I should have, but if there’s anyone in the world I would trust with my name, it’s you.”

They were heading into dangerous territory again. “Chat…”

“Haven’t you noticed?” he asked almost desperately. His hair was even more rumpled than usual with all his fiddling. “Can’t you tell? What I’ve dealt with isn’t just our Miraculouses protecting against each other, right?” His mouth was a thin line, his eyes wide and pleading. “Or… have you even thought about it? At all?” _‘About me?’_ trailed along behind, unsaid.

Ladybug’s stomach was knotting horribly and she swallowed dryly. “Of course I have,” she said, so quiet it was almost a whisper.

“Well, there you go!” He gestured vaguely with his arms.

“Chat…” She squeezed his knee. “ _Chaton_. I know what you’re trying to—”

“Do you?”

“Kitty, _please_.” She took his hand again. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t want to start an argument.”

“I don’t want an _apology_ ,” he said. “I want to _understand_.”

“I know, but _I_ don’t even understand it.” There was that guilty pseudo-lie feeling again. “I’m not shutting you out on purpose. I didn’t even know I was!”

“But what about when we talk?” he said. “You wanted us to open up more to each other, right? How are we supposed to do that if I won’t be able to remember a single thing about you?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but she had no counter-argument. Chat’s well-being and state of mind were so important to her and this really was unfair to him, even though hurting him was the last thing she wanted. But it was so, _so_ dangerous, and scary, and a hundred other things that she could have listed for hours, but anything she could have said melted on her tongue when their eyes met. She wished she had an answer, a perfect solution or a compromise that would solve this problem — she hated fighting with him. But she couldn’t give him what he wanted. Not yet, surely.

“It’s not that simple,” was all the reply she could manage.

“It can be,” he insisted. “Ladybug, I would do anything to protect you. That’s why I’m here.”

“It’s not,” she protested weakly.

“It is, and we both know it.” He spoke with such conviction she almost found herself nodding along, but she stopped herself. He was making it sound like he was her bodyguard. Her sidekick. He was her _partner._ They were a _team_. “Ladybug,” he continued softly. “What can I do to make you trust me?”

She wanted to run, to curl up and hide. She was running out of excuses. “It’s not that simple,” she repeated.

He sighed in frustration. “Okay, fine,” he muttered and cleared his throat. “Remember the first time we talked about this? The identity thing?”

It took her a moment before she remembered. “Lady Wifi,” she said.

“We were at the Bourgeois hotel,” he said. “Your time was up, and you went into a closet to detransform.”

“You tried to stop me.” Her memory was clearing slightly. He’d looked so hopeful and prematurely disappointed at once.

“And you said it was too dangerous to know,” he confirmed. “But you didn’t close the door.”

Ladybug blinked. “Yes I did,” she said. “I swung it shut behind me.”

“It didn’t latch.”

Her insides froze. “What?” she breathed.

“It didn’t latch,” he repeated. “I saw your pink light.”

“You didn’t…?”

“Of course I didn’t! We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I had.” His face was an uneasy mix of emotions, and she couldn’t read a single one of them. “I wanted to,” he admitted, sounding ashamed. “I really, _really_ wanted to. But I didn’t. I closed the door behind you.”

Ladybug sat back again, absently retrieving her hand. She’d known it was a bit of a risk detransforming so close to him, but the closet was her closest option and she trusted him not to look. Even then, when they’d only known each other a few months, and despite his eagerness to throw caution to the wind, she _trusted_ him.

To know her trust had very nearly been misplaced was not exactly encouraging information, considering the circumstances.

“You… How is _that_ supposed to make me trust you?” Her voice shook more than she meant it to.

“What?” His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “I just told you how I _didn’t_ look. I helped you! I protected your secret and I left.”

“All you did was explain how you didn’t take advantage of a situation I had no control over!” She was actually shaking now, the emotion dominating her mind shifting constantly between shock and anger. She felt almost _violated_ in a way, although the word was a bit too extreme to really express that uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was a sour taste in her mouth. “You wanted to, and you almost did!”

“But that’s the point! I _didn’t_. I put your privacy over some stupid temptation, I always have. I—”

“That doesn’t make it better!”

“Why not?”

She felt out of breath, like there was a weight pressing down on her chest and an uncomfortable, sickly heat rose within her. “If you closed the door immediately, that would have been one thing. Did you?” She searched his face desperately but his silence told her everything she needed to know. “This is my _life_ , Chat! You can’t just expect me to ignore the fact that you almost put us both in danger, not to mention how you almost violated my privacy _and_ my trust in the worst way possible! Don’t you see how — how _fucked up_ that is?”

“You think I don’t know that?” he said harshly. “It’s _my_ life too, Ladybug. It was three years ago and I was young and stupid and in l—” He cut himself off and exhaled deeply. Ladybug’s heart had slowed to a crawl. Did he just…? “I didn’t do it,” he said more calmly. “Obviously I didn’t. I would never.”

“But you almost did.” Ladybug tried to keep her voice as level as his was, but it sounded hollow in her ears. “Can you imagine what would have happened if you couldn’t help yourself? What if you had found out? Setting aside the fact that I would have been furious and couldn’t trust you ever again.”

He looked hurt. “That’s a little harsh.”

“Is it?” she asked rhetorically. “Is it _really_? Because that’s _always_ been the one thing, hands down, most important part of this. You _know_ how much it means to me. It’s too dangerous! Even if we assume we can’t be Akumatized, Lady Wifi was just the start.” He stood up suddenly, walking a little ways away and began pacing but she pressed on. “Can you honestly say knowing would have been a good thing back then?”

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he repeated stubbornly.

“What if you couldn’t control yourself?” she demanded, standing up too. “You’ve been controlled before. Dark Cupid, the Puppeteer, Princess Fragrance…”

“Stop,” he said quietly.

“It’s not your fault, but it’s a valid point,” she said. “Who’s to say it couldn’t happen again?”

“I know, okay?” He stopped pacing and turned to face her. His jaw was set again — he didn’t look angry, exactly, but there was something in his eyes that turned her insides into knots. “I know I’m the easier target. But that’s _why I’m here_. I’m your protection! And if you could just _trust_ —”

“I _do_ trust you, Chat!” She was almost yelling now. “But can’t you see how easy this could fall apart? This isn’t something we can do because we’re curious, or because we’ve known each other for a long time, or whatever. We have to be _absolutely sure_ it’s safe.”

“What, like wait until the Akumas are gone?” A rumble of thunder accompanied his words and Ladybug noticed for the first time how dark it really was now, his eyes flashing with the accompanying lightning. “Until we defeat Hawkmoth? That could take _years_ , Ladybug. Didn’t you say you wanted to, someday?” The muscles in his jaw worked furiously and he looked away. “What did you say?” he asked his boots rhetorically. “ _‘We’re going to take that step eventually,’_ right? We can _‘ease into it.’_ ” He met her gaze again, and her heart _ached_ at the look in his eyes. “How can we ease into it,” he said, “if I won’t be able to remember?”

That almost broke her. She looked away as the first droplets of rain misted the air, trying to calm her breathing. They were going in horrible circles, and she felt like they could probably go on forever until one of them finally relented, and the way this was going she was sure it would be her. And it wasn’t like she didn’t want to. Keeping the secret was exhausting — from her friends, from her family, from the world — but necessary. But from Chat it was downright painful. And she hated it.

How did they even get to this point? What had started as a discussion on protecting themselves against outside intrusion had morphed into an argument on whether they would ever really know each other and she wasn’t quite sure when that happened. He was right, of course. Using her own words against her _hurt_ , but she’d hurt him more, throwing his “failures” in his face like that. And she _would_ tell him. She wanted to. One day. There was a part of her that needed this so badly, almost much as he seemed to, to know the silly, flirty boy behind the mask, her partner and best friend. She wanted to feel his bare hand in her own again, to see what his real eyes looked like, to hear that voice she knew so well speak in that strange, mature tone from that night by the hotel.

She wanted him to know her civilian side, not just in passing but for real. She wondered if Marinette could live up to his expectations, if he could ever care about her the same way he seemed to care for Ladybug. She wanted to find out.

But she couldn’t. She didn’t even know how to explain it, this deep-seated, abstract _knowledge_ that if she unmasked, laid herself bare in front of him for judgement, that something terrible would happen. Beyond safety concerns, forgetting Hawkmoth and Akumas and magical destinies — even deep down she knew that was only a minor detail in the grand scheme of things. Hawkmoth discovering them was always a risk and, cruel reminders aside, Chat Noir was statistically speaking the safest possible person she could ever reveal herself to. But their partnership would change forever, and there was no guarantee it would change for the better. Harmless, lighthearted quips at Marinette weren’t exactly reliable indicators he liked her very much. He flirted with _everyone_.

What if he was disappointed?

They couldn’t. It was too soon.

“I can’t, Chat. Not yet.” She didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so cold but it did, and the words hung heavily in the air between them. It had started to rain in earnest now, and in spite of herself she reflected briefly on the irony, such an emotionally charged moment punctuated by dramatic weather changes. If this was a movie she would have turned it off for the cheesiness.

They stood there in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. Water dripped from his steadily soaking hair in tiny rivulets down his face and she noticed how close it looked to tears before he turned away, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. “Whatever,” he said wearily, unhooking his baton from his belt. “I’m not going to try to convince you anymore.”

“Chat—” she began.

“No, I — I should have known better.” The completely blank tone of voice was so unlike him it was like a punch to the stomach. “I just… thought you should know about the magic thing. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Chat…”

“Let’s call off patrol tonight,” he said, still not looking at her as he approached the edge of the building. “Weather’s not really the best for it.” He prepared to leave.

She opened her mouth to stop him, to say something, _anything_ — she hated arguing with him, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go — but a scream cut her off before she even started. They both instinctively spun around to locate the source of the noise, a maniacal cackling now echoing in the mist.

“Akuma?” he asked.

“Must be,” she said dully, unhooking her yo-yo. He was off before she had even started swinging and she followed him, mind still going a mile a minute.

This was an absolute disaster.

Setting aside how _absurdly quickly_ the conversation had spiraled out of control, flip-flopping between emotions so fast it almost gave her whiplash, that horrible, sinking feeling in her gut was mostly from the fact that they’d _never_ fought like this before. And there was no denying it was a fight, either. Even the weather seemed to agree. There was something deeper behind their words, _his_ words. This wasn’t just about the magic — there was something else behind it, a charge in the atmosphere she couldn’t decipher. Her eyes flicked over, watching his back as he vaulted over a low wall and her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She never meant for this day to end up the way it had. She’d come out to make things better, and instead created something infinitely worse.

They were both too stubborn for their own goods.

She alighted next to him on a rooftop with a crouch. The streets were mainly empty, the torrential downpour driving all but the bravest souls to the safety of the indoors. There was a wrecked car close by but no sign of the driver — only one person was barely visible through the fog and the rain. They were floating.

“There,” said Chat, pointing unnecessarily.

“How do you want to handle this?” asked Ladybug.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll distract them. You try to bring them down to ground level. Then we can figure out where the Akuma is.”

“Sounds good.” She tried to sound upbeat but it came out false, a nervous edge to her voice. She tried to push her hair back but her bangs kept streaming water in her eyes. Well, this was going to be a blast. Why didn’t she listen to Tikki?

Chat was gone before she could turn back to him. She tried one last time to knot her hair back but she couldn’t get a good grip so she gave up with a sigh, preparing to jump the two stories to the ground. If they did this quickly, maybe her hair wouldn’t get in the way too much.

She landed on the pavement in a crouch, her yo-yo in hand and already swinging. Chat was yelling something but she couldn’t hear, could barely see anything. She could see his outline, dodging something she couldn’t see as the Akuma spun wildly. It looked like she — the green and turquoise figure was curvy, feminine — was shooting something at him, but there was no light, just the splash of water and her shrieks of frustration, Chat’s figure darting around in front of her. The Akuma was facing away from her. Now was her shot.

Ladybug let her yo-yo fly, the cord wrapping around the Akuma’s hand as she drew it back for another hit, and she gave it a yank. The Akuma stumbled in mid-air, spinning around to face Ladybug with a furious look on her face as the yo-yo retracted, losing its grip on her wrist. Upon closer inspection she appeared to be standing rather than floating, strangely dry considering the weather, and Ladybug furrowed her eyebrows in spite of herself. “Cut _me_ off,” the Akuma snarled. “Crash _my_ car, as if the rain isn’t bad enough!” So she was the driver — good to know. Whoever she was angry at was long gone; there was no-one else in sight. At least they didn’t have to go looking for a random civilian in this weather.

She swirled her arms, raindrops stopping in mid-air and floated in lazy spirals around her. “Well, now I _own_ the rain!” she screeched. “Try to get past the Tempest _now_ , you son of a bitch!” Ladybug realized belatedly that the Akuma really _was_ standing. Hard-to-see disks of trapped rain were supporting her weight, several feet above the ground — she was literally walking on water.

Oh, shit.

The maelstrom of raindrops masquerading as bullets shot towards Ladybug as something barreled into her from the other side, flinging her to the pavement as she hit the ground hard. Chat’s familiar weight shielded her from the strays as the majority of the onslaught whipped harmlessly past them overhead.

“ _The_ Tempest?” Chat’s voice snorted derisively above her as he dragged her to her feet. “Giving yourself a prefix _and_ referring to yourself in the third person? Someone has an ego.”

Tempest only shrieked in reply and lobbed a handful of water at him like a grenade, which he ducked easily. “Cover me,” said Ladybug, spitting out a chunk of her sopping hair, to which he nodded and ran off in the opposite direction, smoothly dodging each fresh attack and even used his baton to swat a few balls back to the Akuma, keeping up a running, mocking commentary Ladybug ignored. “Lucky Charm,” she muttered, ducking behind a trash can. A small tube dropped into her hand, black-and-red-spotted but unmistakably a… tube of fizzing vitamins?

“What the hell, Tikki?” She cursed under her breath as she readied her yo-yo again. A part of her considered discarding the bottle so she could use both hands to fight, but she knew she couldn’t. What if she dropped it and couldn’t find it again? Tikki must have given it to her for a reason.

She rolled back out into the street and tried to capture the Akuma again but an oversized, watery hand-shape swiped it away like a fly. Okay, so that was a thing. Chat bounced up next to her. “It’s her necklace,” he panted, collapsing his baton.

“You sure?” Ladybug pushed her bangs away from her eyes but they flopped down again, tips tickling her eyelashes. She made a mental note to get a haircut soon. Or just never leave her house with her hair loose ever again. Seriously, why did she even start?

“It’s the only thing that doesn’t match her color scheme. Big locket.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “How’d you get close enough to see?” The sky was black now, the rain still hammering and the fog still dense.

He grinned. “What can I say? She _roped_ me in.” The emphasis on “rope” was clearly meant to be a nod to something she hadn’t witnessed, but she decided not to pursue the subject.

“I got these tablets as my Lucky Charm, any ideas?” They had a few more seconds at most before “Tempest” turned her attention back on them, for now distracted by the totaled condition of her car.

“Throw them at her?” he suggested.

Ladybug snorted.

“Well, I don’t know, that’s kind of _your_ area.”

“How am I supposed to know? This is completely—”

“Look out!”

He shoved her roughly and she nearly dropped the bottle as she stumbled, skidding backwards on the rain-slicked pavement, the Akuma’s laugh ringing in her ears. A stream of water shaped like a fist punched him in the stomach and he was flying across the street, a blind alley stopping him with a sickening crunch that she _heard_ , all the way over here — she saw the vague outline of him crumple, the wall he collided with collapsing, dust mingling with the mist and _oh God nothing was moving._

A vague mound of bricks was all that was visible in the half-collapsed alley, but before she could call out to her partner a wall of water slammed into her, knocking the air from her lungs and nearly sending her flying again. The plastic tube in her hand was getting slippery with water, the material of her suit barely managing to keep a grip on it. She tried to run to the alley but the Akuma blocked her again, cackling maniacally. Oh God, _Chat_ …

“Give me your Miraculous!” screeched the self-proclaimed Tempest, rain swirling around her in a twisted dance.

Ladybug ignored her, trying one more time to make a break for the alley, but only narrowly saved herself from tripping as the Akuma waved an arm and a coil of water snaked out of a puddle and locked itself like a chain around her ankle. She tried to yank her leg free but it wouldn’t budge, a second stream of water trapping her other leg as well. So that was what Chat meant. She let out a scream of frustration.

Tempest descended lazily, walking through the air on disks of trapped rain. “This is too easy,” she complained. “And here I thought you two were supposed to be a challenge—”

She had to do this quickly. Ladybug uncapped the tube roughly with her teeth, scattering the contents haphazardly around her feet. The tablets floated momentarily in her restraints. For a split second nothing happened. She considered wildly if she should just throw the now empty tube at the Akuma’s face to distract her instead.

The chains exploded outwards with a splash.

Fizzing water hissed violently as Ladybug sprang into action, her yo-yo whipping out and coiling around Tempest, pinning her arms to her sides and yanking her back to ground level with a furious shriek. Ladybug’s fist rose to meet her and the punch connected with such force Tempest’s head snapped back. She crumpled to the pavement. Ladybug snagged the pendant around her neck on the way down, the chain snapping with a barely-audible _chk_.

Ladybug crushed the infected locket beneath her heel, a small, sickly violet moth fluttering from the wreckage. She swung her yo-yo. “Bye-bye, you son of a bitch,” she muttered.

The girl on the ground — now non-threatening and completely drenched — moaned piteously, but Ladybug spared her only a cursory glance; she wasn’t quite unconscious, but thoroughly dazed. She’d live.

But where was Chat?

“ _Chat_!” she screamed, running to the alley. She couldn’t see a thing through the rain, streaming down her face and plastering her hair to her skin. It was lessening slightly now that the Akuma was defeated, but the fog was still thick. She was gripping the Lucky Charm so hard her fingers were numb, and she tossed it blindly into the air. “Miraculous Cure!”

The magic wiped the streets clean, brushing lightly over her skin and healing cuts she didn’t even realize she had, but she barely noticed. The bricks fitted themselves back together, but her partner was nowhere to be seen. Her pulse thudded madly in her ears. “ _Chat_!” she screamed again, desperately.

A hand caught her shoulder and she spun around, instinctively smacking it away and falling into a fighting stance. “Woah,” said Chat, raising his arms in a placating gesture. “Take it easy, Bug, it’s just me.”

“ _Chat_!” she exclaimed, immediately clinging to him as tightly as she could. “Oh my God.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed, freeing one of his arms as best he could and hugging her back. “I’m here.”

“Where _were_ you?” she demanded. “The wall collapsed and I went to find you but—”

“I got knocked out for a minute,” he said, pulling back so he could see her.

“Knocked out? Are you alright? Did the wall—”

“I’m fine, Bug,” he reassured her gently, brushing a sopping lock of hair out of her eyes. “I wasn’t buried or anything. But by the time I woke up and tried to get back in the fight, you’d already purified the Akuma and I could barely see a thing.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “I just followed the yelling.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder and pulling him close again. “I thought you were hurt,” she said, her voice muffled, relief finally flooding through her and replacing the anxiety. That god-awful cracking noise rang in her ears and she squeezed him tighter. “And we were fighting and—”

“Bug, it’s fine. _I’m_ fine. I swear. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, _I_ shouldn’t have,” she interrupted him thickly. “You’re right. I — I’m worried about my identity, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Your identity is important to you,” he said quietly, his arms tightening around her waist. “You can’t help it.”

“ _You’re_ important to me,” she said.

“Bug—”

“You _are_ ,” she insisted hotly, fingers clutching at the collar of his suit. His bell was digging uncomfortably into her neck but she didn’t care. “I’ll fix it. I don’t know how, but I _will_. You’re more important to me than some stupid magic.”

In the heat of the moment, she kissed his cheek.

She missed.

She only realized her mistake when she felt the roughness of stubble marred on one side by the soft indentation of his mouth, and she jerked back instinctively in surprise. His eyes were wide with shock, jaw slightly slack, claws digging harder into her hips, but he didn’t pull away. He hadn’t moved, had barely _breathed._ Her heart hammered in her chest. _‘It’s not too late to retreat,’_ part of her screamed. She didn’t pay attention. Slowly, tentatively, she inched forward again, pressing her lips softly to that same spot on the corner of his mouth, and his breath hitched audibly, loud in her ears. She pulled back slowly, not quite so far this time, hesitantly meeting his eyes. They were _burning_.

 _‘This was a mistake,’_ she thought, panicked, and she swallowed, hard. “I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I shouldn’t have — _mmf_.”

She hadn’t expected him to catch her cheeks in his hands and kiss her full on the mouth.

The sudden shock of it sent her stumbling backwards and she hit the wall, but his lips never left hers for a second. Warm and soft and oh so gentle, they fit together like they were _made_ for each other, and she wondered vaguely why they hadn’t done this _years_ ago. Her eyes fluttered shut and she kissed him back, arm around his neck and a hand on his chest, and suddenly his lips parted and _oh_ she could _taste_ him, like strawberries and peppermint toothpaste, and the world melted away.

He kissed her like his life depended on it, desperately, lovingly, like every moment leading up to now had been preparing him for _this_ , a hand cupping her cheek and an arm around her waist, pulling her closer until her back arched her body into him and he _moaned_ then against her mouth, thrilling her right down to her toes. His lips, teasing, wanting, _worshipping_ her with every breath, moving against her like he had no other purpose, tongue gentle, her hands migrating from his racing, stumbling heart to his hair, pressing her mouth harder into his. Her leg snaked around his calf and suddenly the hand on her hip hitched her up, claws digging into her the meat of her thigh in the most _delicious_ of ways, and it was her turn to moan now as he pulled her closer, until she could feel every inch of him, the tautness of muscle and shortness of breath, gasping for air but unwilling to let her go for even a second.

She could dimly hear a beeping sound but she ignored it, she wanted to stay here forever, breath mingling, hearts pounding, hands clutching and pulling, mouths hungry and feverish and _yearning_ with every touch. It was only when the beeping returned, louder and more insistent this time that he achingly, reluctantly pulled a hair’s breadth away from her, panting and stuttering, lips barely brushing hers. “Your Miraculous,” he said hoarsely.

“Who cares?” she murmured and kissed him again.

He moaned and it was even better than the first time, his arms wrapped around her like he couldn’t bear to let her go, shielding her from the freezing, pouring rain. The bricks dug painfully into her back and shoulders but she couldn’t have cared less because where the wall wasn’t, _he_ was, half-supporting her like she weighed nothing at all, and his lips were like heaven.

“Ladybug,” he whispered, breaking away from her mouth even more reluctantly than before, “you should really go.”

“Don’t you want me to stay?” she teased softly, peppering kisses along the line of his jaw and down his neck. A wrecked whine left his throat and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Believe me, I want nothing more than to continue this _thoroughly enjoyable_ line of discussion,” he said, voice raw and rasping in a way that somehow made her stomach twist wonderfully into knots. “But you need to get out of here. You should get as close to home as you can before you detransform. It’s freezing out here.” He nudged her cheek with his nose. “You’ll get sick.”

“I like the rain,” she breathed. She gently pushed the blond hair plastered to his forehead out of his eyes, half-closed, smoldering. His lips, kiss-bruised and parted as he tried to catch his breath, beckoned to her and she obliged, pressing her mouth to his in a chaste imitation of before.

“Ladybug,” he moaned softly, claws digging into her hips again.

She decided she liked him like this.

He gently but firmly pushed her back against the wall as her Miraculous beeped a third time. “Ladybug—” He kissed her softly. “ _Ma chérie_ —” Kiss. “You really—” Kiss. “ _Really_ need to go.” Kiss. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“But I don’t wanna go,” she whined, pulling him closer with a finger hooked in his belt. He swallowed, hard.

“My Lady—” Oh, _oh_ , she liked how that sounded with his voice like this. “—you need to go, _now_. Find me later, okay?”

“Okay,” she said breathlessly, and kissed him again, one last time. Those sounds he was making couldn’t possibly be legal. They only broke apart when her Miraculous beeped again.

“I’ll see you later,” he promised gently, in that raw voice that made her toes curl. “Now _go_.”

Hesitantly, reluctantly, she did.

Marinette stumbled through the bakery door fifteen minutes later, sopping wet and shaky. Her mother instantly dropped the pad of paper she’d been jotting something down on and came out from behind the counter. “Marinette!” she exclaimed. “What on earth…?”

“Got caught out in the rain,” said Marinette faintly, dripping a small puddle on the floor.

“At this hour?” Mrs Cheng tutted loudly. “What were you even doing out so late? I thought you were in your room.”

“I went for a walk.” Her mouth was on autopilot, her mind still in a bit of a daze. _‘I kissed Chat Noir,’_ she thought vaguely, the thought running around her head on a loop. _‘I kissed Chat Noir, I kissed Chat Noir, I kissed_ — _’_

“A _walk_? In _this_ weather? Honey, are you okay?” Mrs Cheng cupped her daughter’s face and inspected her concernedly. “Tom, come here,” she called over her shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Mr Dupain came out from the back, wiping his floury hands clean on the hem of his apron. “Marinette! You’re soaked!”

“Go get some towels,” said her mother and her father disappeared instantly up the stairs, returning moments later with a stack of bath towels that her parents began patting her down with.

Their choruses of “How did this happen?” and “When?” and “Why?” echoed dimly in the background and she barely heard her own voice answering their questions automatically, her brain still repeating over and over like a broken record, _‘I kissed Chat Noir, I kissed him and he kissed me back, he called me_ chérie _and I_ kissed _him and I want to do it again…’_

“Marinette?” Her mother waved a hand in front of her face and she started. “Marinette, honey, snap out of it. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, _maman_ ,” she said as casually as she could. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a long day. I went out to clear my head and went a little farther than I meant to, and then it started raining and I forgot my wallet so I couldn’t take a taxi…” She was rambling and her mother was looking at her with a very owlish expression on her face so she stopped.

“I didn’t see you leave,” Mrs Cheng said.

“Oh, well, maybe you were both in the back,” tittered Marinette nervously. “Or dealing with a customer! Yes, that must have been it.”

“Must have been,” said her mother, although her eyes were still narrowed slightly.

“You should go upstairs and take a warm bath,” suggested her father, looking nearly as suspicious as Mrs Cheng.

“Yes, go upstairs and leave your wet clothes by the door, I’ll take care of them,” her mother agreed. “You’ll catch your death of cold. Honestly, Marinette, what were you thinking, going out for a walk without a proper jacket? It’s March!”

“Sorry, _maman_ ,” Marinette murmured. “I’m fine, it won’t happen again.” She gathered the towels and flitted up the stairs, barely registering her parents’ concerned looks.

In the bathroom she filled the tub and on a whim chased the water with some bubble bath. She stripped and sank silently into the foam.

Tikki, whose presence she’d nearly forgotten about, crawled onto the edge of the tub. “Are you alright, Marinette?” she asked.

“I kissed Chat Noir,” said Marinette faintly through the bubbles. Tikki had a knowing smile on her face but said nothing. Marinette straightened. “I _kissed_ him, Tikki. We — I…” She touched her lips gently with a soapy hand, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“You did,” confirmed Tikki, perched elegantly on the ceramic rim.

Marinette sank deeper into the safe cover of the bubbles, a blush finally rising in her cheeks as the water slowly warmed her. Her heart was tripping over itself and flashes of memory threatened to overwhelm her — his hand on her thigh, her back against the wall, the feel of his lips and _oh_ , those _sounds_ … Her stomach fluttered incessantly. She _kissed_ him. _She_ kissed _him_. He kissed her _back_.

“Do you believe me now?” said Tikki. If Marinette didn’t know better, she could have almost sworn there was a hint of _smugness_ in her kwami’s voice. “He likes you, Marinette.”

“I… I guess he does,” said Marinette faintly.

She couldn’t wait to see him tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adrien is freaking out and something's up with Nathalie.

Chat Noir stayed behind after Ladybug left, calmly checking on the Akuma victim, staying with her until the police arrived, and watching as her car was towed. She seemed dazed but otherwise physically fine, although whether that was a side effect of the car accident or her Akumatization Chat couldn’t say. It was only when she was safe and he had headed home, thankfully only a short distance away, and safely detransformed in his room did he allow himself to process what had happened.

Adrien stood for a moment, hair dripping steadily down his face and wetting his t-shirt, staring vaguely into the distance. Plagg wafted over, waving a paw in his face. “Hello, earth to Adrien,” he said.

Adrien blinked at him. “She kissed me,” he said distantly.

“Yes, I know.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Adrien cupped his kwami in his hands and stared at him. “ _She kissed me_ ,” he said emphatically.

“Congratulations,” said Plagg, completely unruffled. “Now where’s my cheese?”

“ _She kissed me_!” Adrien whooped, flinging Plagg unceremoniously into the air. The kwami, caught completely by surprise, tumbled unnoticed out of sight as his chosen hugged himself, dancing around his room. “She _kissed_ me, she _kissed_ me, Ladybug _kissed me_!”

“Are you _trying_ to wake up the whole house?” asked Plagg in a disgruntled tone as he crawled over a couch cushion. “Or do you just not care?”

Adrien reined himself in just enough to flop down beside his kwami, a stupid grin painted on his face. “Ladybug _kissed_ me,” he said giddily. He kept saying it aloud, but it still didn’t seem real.

“Yes, yes, I _heard_ ,” said Plagg, although his whiskers twitched slightly and his voice wasn’t quite as gruff as usual. “The whole house is probably incredibly happy for you.”

There were no noises from the hall to suggest anyone was going to barge in and reprimand him for the noise, so Adrien ignored the jab. Who cared, anyway? This was probably the greatest moment of his life. He couldn’t stop smiling.

The argument from before seemed distant, unimportant to him right now. It would probably have to be addressed at some point down the line, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at this particular moment. Ladybug — gorgeous, wonderful, _incredible_ Ladybug, the love of his life — had _kissed_ him. _Enthusiastically_ , if those sounds she was making were any indication. Adrien covered his reddening face in his hands, savoring the memory. The feeling of her hands in his hair, the press of her body against his, the softness of her lips… She even _tasted_ like honey. He knew what Ladybug _tasted_ like. He wriggled in his seat.

“Hey, kid,” said Plagg, settling on the back of the couch. “Not to rain on your parade or anything, but if you have any intention of going out again, I’m gonna need some sustenance. Like a couple kilos of Camembert, to start.”

Going out! He was going to see her! Again! _Tonight_! Adrien shot up immediately, heart pounding. “Of course! Absolutely, right away!” he babbled, scrambling over the back of the couch and hurtling towards the door. “Anything you want!” He shucked off his shoes as he went, one of them sailing neatly into the trash can and the other skidding under the edge of his bed. Socks were much better for sneaking.

“If I’d known _this_ was what it took for you to take cheese seriously, I would have been much more encouraging about this silly romance thing of yours,” said Plagg, sounding vaguely amused.

Adrien hushed him. “Can’t talk now,” he whispered. “ _Sneaking_.” He slipped out the door.

The hall was dark and silent and he padded along it on autopilot, mind wandering. He wanted to sing. He indulged instead in quick spin on the slick wood floor, clutching his hair in dazed elation. For so long he had wondered what it would be like to kiss her — _‘Consciously,’_ part of him chimed in unhelpfully — and now… He’d often imagined the where or the how; sometimes atop the Eiffel Tower at sunset, sometimes in front of the Notre Dame as snow swirled around them. A particular favorite fantasy had been after a reveal, her costume melting away to reveal a girl with black pigtails who fell into his arms and warmed him like sunshine as she kissed him softly, the rest of the world fading around them.

He hadn't expected the heated, desperate clash of mouths and tongues and bodies in a non-descript alley in the rain, minutes after they’d had a fight, but he couldn’t exactly complain about how things had turned out. This was _real_.

If anything, that made it more perfect.

An acrid smell broke him sharply out of his reverie and he sniffed instinctively, instantly wary. It smelled like smoke, but the alarms weren’t going off. A horrible thought struck him — _‘What if they broke?’_ — but another sniff gave him pause. It didn’t _smell_ like the house was burning. It was more like… tobacco.

He followed the smell which, coincidentally, took him straight to the kitchen. His first thought was maybe someone left the stove on, but then he rounded the corner.

“Nathalie!” he exclaimed, surprised.

She was perched on the counter in the dark, the only illumination coming from the fan above the stove. She jumped visibly at his voice, her head snapping over to look at him. She’d been leaning out an open window, a cigarette in hand that she nearly dropped into the shrubbery below. “Adrien!” She quickly pinched out the cigarette and tossed it out the window, as if ridding herself of the physical evidence would make the smell disappear. “I didn’t hear — I mean, I didn’t realize you were home.” She straightened her glasses and it was only then he realized that she was completely without makeup for the first time he could remember, clad not in a slick pantsuit but instead in flannel pajama bottoms, a short housedress cinched loosely at her waist. She looked almost… _human_ , for lack of a better word. It was unnerving.

“I was in my room,” he said, eyes flicking downwards to the counter near her knees. A half-empty pack of cigarettes lay innocently on the dark marble, a cheap lighter resting on top. He met her eyes. There were so many questions, he didn’t know what to say first.

She scooted the pack out of sight, clearing her throat awkwardly. “Well, you weren’t there when I checked.” Her hair was pulled back as it always was but the bun was messy and she looked disheveled. She squinted at him. “Why are you wet?”

Adrien’s hand immediately went to his hair, which was no longer dripping but still stringy, the ends curling as they dried. “I took a shower,” he said automatically. “In my bathroom. Which was probably why I didn’t hear you. When you came up, I mean. Because of the water.” Smooth.

She opened her mouth and closed it again, seemingly deciding it was easier not to question him. He flicked on the light and she flinched almost imperceptibly. She looked even worse in the light, not necessarily bad but just… _wrong_. She usually looked pristine, like nothing could possibly ruffle her feathers. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never once seen her look quite so… normal. She always seemed ageless, like she just appeared one day with a crisp blazer and his modelling schedule in hand. Not like a tired woman in her forties sneaking cigarettes out her boss’s kitchen window at eight-thirty PM on a Tuesday night.

“What are you doing here, Nathalie?” he asked hesitantly.

She looked instantly mortified. “Nothing,” she said hurriedly, slipping off the counter with decidedly less grace than she’d probably intended. “Nothing, I was just… I mean…” She trailed off as she met Adrien’s eyes, who had hovered silently in the doorway the entire time. He was mostly unsure of what to do with himself, the surreal nature of the situation throwing him for a loop — going from Ladybug to… _this_ in no time flat was disconcerting, to say the least.

Nathalie stayed at the house sometimes — she had her own room, of course, which accounted for her current attire — but usually she avoided it whenever possible, especially when his father was out of town. She had her own apartment. Why was she here?

“Are you… okay?”

“Of course!” she said, bustling about the kitchen, nonchalantly slipping the cigarettes into a pocket in her housedress as she went. “Of course I am, I’m—” She broke off as she met Adrien’s gaze. He still hadn’t moved, and she deflated slightly against the counter. “I’m fine,” she said, weaker this time.

She didn’t look fine. There were bags under her eyes and she seemed smaller somehow, tired. He hadn’t even known she smoked. “…Okay,” he said slowly. He was itching to get back upstairs, but he couldn’t just… _leave_. Something was wrong. “You know, there are easier places to smoke than out the window,” he suggested quietly.

“I wasn’t… I didn’t, I mean, I’ve quit—” He said nothing but she stopped anyway, sagging slightly. “Fine,” she said. “You caught me.” She leaned with her back to the sink and sighed. “Just… don’t tell your father. Please.”

Adrien blinked. “Of course not,” he said. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. However much his father relied on Nathalie for everything, this was clearly a firing offence, but he wasn’t here and Adrien could tell she really didn’t need to add “unemployment” to the list of things that drove her to this in the first place.

“Thank you,” she said, relief clearly evident in her voice. “This, ah, this won’t happen again.”

“…Okay.”

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. She was standing between him and the enormous fridge and clearly had no intention of leaving, so Adrien had a short internal debate on whether or not a lecture on his dietary restrictions was worth retrieving Plagg’s snack _right now_. An image of Ladybug’s kiss-bruised lips flashed in his mind. _‘Cheese it is,’_ he decided. It was a no-brainer, really.

He wordlessly crossed the kitchen and took out three small wheels of Camembert, stacking the wooden boxes on top of each other as he turned to leave. Nathalie squinted at him. “Where are you going with those?” she asked suspiciously.

“My room. It’s a snack.”

“A snack? You’re going to eat three wheels of cheese alone as a _snack_?”

See, this was why Plagg was so lucky to have him. The strange looks and comments every single time he had to be seen with such a ridiculous amount of cheese was barely even embarrassing anymore, he was so used to it. “Yup,” he said, and added innocently, “Don’t forget to turn the smoke alarm back on when you’re done.”

He almost felt bad for that one when she flushed, but it deflected her focus well enough. “You’ll ruin your diet,” was all she had to say after that.

“Good night, Nathalie,” he said as he left.

“Good night, Adrien,” came her mumbled reply.

Adrien raced back upstairs, his socks skidding on the marble staircase. Plagg looked up from the couch with feigned disinterest when he finally closed his bedroom door behind him. “Took you long enough,” he commented as Adrien deposited the cheese in an unceremonious pile next to him. “Hey! Watch the goods.”

“I ran into Nathalie,” said Adrien. “She was smoking.”

Plagg dug into his feast with gusto. “So that’s why you smell funny,” he said, smacking his lips. “I was wondering why you were down there for ages, I thought you’d be more excited to see your girlfriend.”

Nathalie was instantly driven off Adrien’s mind. “She’s not my—” he began automatically, but stopped. “Wait,” he said, a sudden, unidentifiable _rush_ sweeping through him. “Is she?”

“How should I know?” Plagg savored another wedge. “Human relationships are so… _weird_.”

“I mean, she kissed me!” Adrien collapsed on the couch, nearly sitting on a cheese wheel. “She wouldn’t kiss me if she didn’t like me, would she? We’ve known each other forever.” Plagg offered no reply so he agonized on his own. “It _meant_ something, right? I mean, _she_ kissed _me_ first. And she seemed pretty into it…”

“Hey, I’m _eating_ ,” interjected Plagg.

“Come on, Plagg, help me out here!” Adrien clutched at his hair. “You’re, what, five — six _thousand_ years old, at least? Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, _wise_ or something? Any advice?”

Plagg gulped down the last wedge. “What do you want from me, kid? Do I look like I care about human relationships? They’re weird and confusing and quite frankly the whole ‘kissing’ thing is just bizarre.” He opened the second box and took a delicate sniff. “I don’t understand why squashing your faces together is such a big deal.”

“It _is_ a big deal!” exclaimed Adrien. “Kissing is _amazing_! You do it because you love someone, or because you’re happy, or—” He stopped.

Plagg glanced up at him. “…Or?” he prompted.

Ladybug had been pretty emotional after the fight. Both of them, in fact. She seemed almost on the verge of tears when he found her, screaming his name in the alley. She clearly hadn’t gone in _intending_ to kiss him, judging by her hesitation after the first peck. What if she just got caught up in the moment, like he had when he pushed her against the wall? Except his kiss was backed by _years_ of wanting and waiting and love. That she hadn’t taken him seriously before now didn’t mean it hadn’t been real for him.

Was it real for her?

Or was it something else? As horrible as the concept of her meeting him later and telling him it was a mistake seemed, looming over him now as it was, there was a third option and he couldn’t decide if it was worse. Here they were, two teenagers with apparently compatible sexual orientations, with years of friendship and trust behind them. Years peppered with flirtation and double-entendres galore, especially over the past few months. She’d started reciprocating his advances to a certain degree, even one-upping him on occasion — teasing him with obvious wordplay and body-language of a decidedly _mature_ nature. She’d also, just before this particular dance began, been rejected by a boy she liked very much.

Was he her rebound?

“Am I…” Adrien cleared his throat, gut writhing at the swirl of thoughts in his head. “Do you think she meant it?”

“I have no idea,” said Plagg, completely unconcerned with the fact that his chosen was having a crisis. “Why don’t you just ask her?”

“ _Ask_ her? I can’t just ask her something like that!” Adrien groaned, letting himself slump down in his seat until he nearly slid onto the floor. “What if she did and I hurt her feelings? Or even worse, she _didn’t_ and I have to pretend the love of my life didn’t just _crush_ my _soul_ —”

“You’re being dramatic,” said Plagg.

“Am I, Plagg? Am I _really_? This is a life or death situation, here!”

“Life or death? Really? I’ve seen a _lot_ of ‘life or death’ situations in my time, kid, _this_ is not one of them.” He took his time with the cheese, as his chosen looked on anxiously. When it became clear the kwami had no intention of making himself useful, Adrien stood up and began pacing, scenarios running through his head in quick succession. There was a particularly persistent image of Ladybug laughing as he confessed his love to her, but he pushed it aside. No matter what happened later, she would never be that cruel.

He touched his lips absently, the memory of her lingering — tiny pecks down his jawline, the arching of her back, her breathless moans insisting she wanted to stay… He’d nearly given in then, when she pulled him back by his belt. The irony of _him_ being the one to protect her identity after their argument was not lost on him. He’d wanted nothing more than to stay. He wanted _her_ to stay. That moment, those incredible few minutes where nothing existed but the two of them should have lasted forever.

But it couldn’t, and it didn’t, and she left him dripping and dazed in the fog. A white-hot _something_ had snaked in the pit of his stomach as her husky, gasping voice mumbled _‘Who cares?’_ into his mouth. It meant something, right?

“The rain stopped,” commented Plagg with a tiny smack of his lips.

Adrien turned. The cheese was gone and Plagg was lounging comfortably among the carnage of cheese crumbs and empty boxes. He had no idea what time it was now, and frankly, he didn’t care. He had to leave. He couldn’t take another second of this torture.

“Claws out!”

It occurred to Chat as he bounded across Paris that he and Ladybug had never actually agreed on a meeting place when she left. All he’d said was “Find me later,” which could mean pretty much anything. They hadn’t even figured out a “when.” Of course, there had been… _other concerns_ at the time, but they could both be wandering for hours as it was, one looking for the other, or missing each other entirely. Clearly neither of them had thought this through.

He decided on the Eiffel Tower, as that had become their unofficial meeting place over the years. As for the _when_ , well, he didn’t mind waiting. She’d wind up there eventually. He’d been waiting for her nearly four years anyway. What was a few more hours?

The air was unusually still. The metal platform was slick with rain but his boots had a decent grip and the climb was easy. He landed lightly and paused, looking out over the horizon. It was strange, how nervous and simultaneously calm he was. There was a restless fluttering in his stomach and his heart was going a mile a minute, but when he retracted his baton and leaned over the railing to take in the view his hands were steady.

Ladybug was the love of his life. He’d loved her since the moment he first laid eyes on her, still getting used to her powers, awkward and unsure of herself. She’d proven to be a capable leader, brilliant and kind and oh so beautiful. He’d wanted to kiss her since that very first day.

Now he had.

There was a very strange mix of emotions at that simple fact. Love and lust and pure _joy_ , of course, but also this unwanted sense of _doubt_ niggling in the back of his mind. There should have been nothing but certainty from the moment their lips met, and there _was_ , but there was an uneasiness lingering in the pit of his stomach. He knew what he wanted — what he’d always wanted. He wanted _her_. But what did _she_ want?

It felt so _right_ , though. Like his whole life had lead up to that one moment. In a way, he supposed, it kind of had. He’d never had any prospects outside of his father’s strict control especially after his mother left, sure he was sentenced to a life in the spotlight without a chance to become his own person — at least, until Plagg showed up and turned him into Chat Noir. And that was wonderful, of course. Exhilarating. And then he met her.

It was funny, really. He hadn’t seen her coming or even heard her at all until it was too late and she crashed into him, sending them both flying and hopelessly tangled in her yo-yo string, suspended two meters off the ground. She’d been so awkward and shy, not at all like the confident, wonderful girl he came to know. She was gorgeous, he’d always known that, but it wasn’t until they eliminated Stoneheart for good that he realized what a beautiful person she was on the inside as well.

He loved her. He really, really did. And the possibility of her not loving him back was nearly unbearable. But so much had changed between them over the years — she didn’t dismiss his flirtations out of hand anymore. Her crush in her civilian life was gone, or so it seemed. And she _had_ kissed him first. His ears burned as he remembered the taste of her and his grip on the metal railing tightened. That had to count for something.

“Chat?”

He whirled around, nearly tripping over his tail in his haste. She was here, Ladybug was _here_ , looking windswept and nervous, lowering herself from the railing to the platform and _oh_ she was beautiful. Any doubts he had were gently wiped away as he took in the sight of her. No matter what happened, at least they had that one moment. He would rather go a hundred years without kissing her again than to never have kissed her at all.

“H-hey,” he stuttered, a hand instinctively jumping to the back of his neck. Seeing her suddenly drained him of the ability to speak, or it would have done if he’d been able to think of anything to say in the first place. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was suddenly weak at the knees.

“Hey,” she repeated, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly as he tried to steady himself on the railing and slipped, catching himself from falling at the last second before he could fall at her feet.

There was a silence, but Chat hardly even noticed until she cleared her throat slightly and broke the eye contact he hadn’t even realized they’d been holding. Had her eyes really been _that_ blue this whole time? She’d pulled her hair back now, most of it gathered in a braid that hung vaguely over one shoulder. She was fiddling with the end of it absently. Her bangs were still slightly damp, puffing slightly as her hair dried. Her cheeks were flushed, the rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath incredibly distracting. She must have raced over here. He swallowed.

“So…” he said, and stopped.

“So,” she agreed. There was another pause, not awkward but just… uncertain, neither of them seeming to know where to start.

“I—” he began just as she said “We—” and they stopped again.

She grinned lopsidedly. “Sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be,” he said.

“It’s just…” She nibbled on her lip and his eyes were drawn to the action. They were so soft and he wanted nothing more than to feel her mouth on his again… He restrained himself. “This is kind of weird,” she admitted.

“Is it?” It kind of was, in a surreal sort of way, but hearing her voice the fact aloud made a small weight sink from his chest to the pit of his stomach. _‘It’s okay,’_ he reassured himself. _‘There’s nothing to worry about. She’s just saying what you were both thinking, that’s all.’_

“Well… yeah.” She pushed her bangs away from her face but they fell back down, puffing even more than before. “I mean, don’t you think so?”

“I… don’t know.” The butterflies in his gut were still fluttering violently, but it was like they had soured slightly, tainted. “I mean, I guess. A little.”

She exhaled with a huff that almost sounded like a laugh and leaned with her back to the railing. “It’s not _bad_ ,” she clarified. “Just… strange, y’know?”

He ran a gloved hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. It certainly was turning out that way, at least. He edged a little closer and leaned casually next to her, although he left a comfortable space between them, not quite as large as before but not intimately close. No need to make things weirder, he supposed. “It doesn’t… _have_ to be,” he offered hesitantly.

She half-smiled at that. “No, I guess not.”

“So.”

“So.”

They were quiet again.

“We have… a lot to talk about, don’t we?” he said finally.

She laughed. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, we do.”

He cleared his throat. “About earlier…”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “Which part?” she said.

“The argument. The… fight,” he corrected himself.

She twiddled her braid. “Right.”

“I — I’m sorry,” he said. “About everything.”

She shook her head. “No.”

He blinked. “No?”

“You were right,” she said, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “You were absolutely right. I didn’t know all that stuff about the magic, but it’s not fair to you.” She poked around in a puddle with her toe. “I never wanted you to get hurt. My identity is really important to me, but you’re right. If there’s anyone in the world who should be the least affected by the magic, it’s you.”

His heart leapt. “Really?”

“Of course.” It wasn’t until she glanced up at him that he realized she hadn’t looked back at him until now. “I want you to know. Not right now, but eventually. And that can’t happen if you get knocked out any time a girl with black hair looks at you sideways.”

“It’s not _that_ bad,” he said.

“Still.” She looked back down at their feet. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not important to me,” she said quietly. “Because you are.”

“Well,” he said, flexing casually. “I _am_ pretty great.”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up, we’re having a _moment_ ,” she admonished.

“Hey, you brought it up. We’re just stating facts here.”

She smiled. “What I’m trying to say is,” she continued, “I haven’t been fair to you and I’m sorry. I’ll talk to Tikki about it. I’m sure she can help me figure out what I can do. I… I don’t want you to get hurt. Especially not by me.”

“You could never hurt me,” he murmured. It was a bald-faced lie, but it didn’t feel like one. Not even a little bit. He was putty in her hands, always had been. She could crush his soul in a million pieces beneath her heel and he would probably thank her for the privilege.

She snorted. “Getting psychically stabbed in the eye sounds pretty painful to me,” she pointed out.

“I lived, didn’t I?”

“What was it you said?” She tapped her chin in an imitation of deep thought. “Something about an aneurysm?”

He flushed. “That was… a little over-dramatic,” he admitted sheepishly. “I think Plagg is rubbing off on me.”

She chuckled. “No, you were right,” she said. “I mean, I doubt identity protecting magic would let a Miraculous holder die to protect another’s secret, but it certainly painted a picture.” She sobered up slightly. “I was really horrible to you back there,” she said. “I’m sorry, Chat.”

“No, you weren’t,” he began but she stopped him.

“Yes, I was,” she said. “I shouldn’t have thrown The Puppeteer in your face like that just to prove a point. Or any of the others, for that matter. It’s not your fault. It was cruel.”

He pursed his lips. “That’s a little harsh. You _were_ right.”

“No, it _was_ cruel. Being right has nothing to do with it. It could just as easily have happened to me, you know.”

He glanced at her. “Has it ever?”

She huffed. “That’s not the point. It’s just blind luck that I didn’t get hit by Dark Cupid’s arrow. Or sprayed by Princess Fragrance.”

Chat grinned. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Bug, that’s kind of your whole deal.”

“You know what I mean.”

He shrugged. “It’s my job to protect you,” he said.

“And I shouldn’t have tried to use that against you. I’m sorry.”

He opened his mouth to object, realized they would just keep going in apology circles, closed it, and smiled instead. “It’s okay,” he said.

“Good.”

“So.”

“So.”

There was that silence again. It seemed slightly heavier now that the smaller of the elephants in the room had been dealt with. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he had no idea where to start and from the way she was chewing on the inside of her cheek she didn’t seem to be doing much better.

“We’re not very good at this, are we?” she said quietly.

He sighed. “No, we’re not,” he said.

She opened her mouth, hesitated, closed it again. Twisted her braid. She didn’t look uncomfortable, exactly, but her face was clouded, eyes cast downward. He was remarkably steady on his feet, considering. _‘She doesn’t know how to tell me it was a mistake,’_ he realized calmly. Funny, he thought it would hurt more than this. Well, he couldn’t claim a part of him hadn’t been expecting this. He might as well rip the band-aid off himself. No point in delaying the inevitable.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Sorry?” She sounded genuinely confused. “About what?”

“About the… the kiss,” he said. Wow, this was hard.

She stiffened, glancing at him. “Why would you be sorry?”

“I—” _‘Why is she looking at me like that?’_ Had he completely misinterpreted things? Did she really…? No. Did she? He backtracked madly. “I — I kinda got a little, uh, caught up, I guess,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “P-pushing you into the — a-and all the… y’know…” He trailed off, face burning.

“O-oh. That.” She was turning pink too. She was fidgeting with her yo-yo, her face twitching like she was trying and failing to suppress whatever emotion was currently fighting to make itself known. She didn’t meet his eyes when she said, “I didn’t mind.”

Oh. Okay. He was suddenly infinitely grateful for the support of the railing because his knees were going weak again. “Really?”

That smile she was trying to hide gained traction and the corners of her mouth quirked up ever so slightly. “Yeah.”

He grinned. “ _Really_ ,” he said, settling back. His voice was remarkably steady considering his pulse was going haywire. “That is _very_ interesting.”

The top of her mask shifted, like she was raising an eyebrow at him. “Is it?”

“It _is_ ,” he agreed.

“Did you?”

He feigned ignorance. “Did I what?”

“Dammit, Chat, do I have to spell it out for you?” Her voice wavered, nervous, barely noticeable but he caught it. “Did you like kissing me or not?”

He softened. “’Course I did,” he said. It wasn’t as weird to admit to her face as he thought it would be. Of course, her admitting it first probably helped immensely. _Oh_. Ladybug liked kissing him. He liked kissing her. They liked kissing _each other_. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

Her ears were red. “Oh. Okay. Good.” Her face twitched again.

“I _suppose_ I even could be convinced to a round two,” he said nonchalantly, pretending to examine his claws. “If you asked nicely, of course.”

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. God, she was beautiful. “Why, kitty,” she said, an impish grin spreading across her face. “Do you like me or something?”

He sniffed. “Funny, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s almost like I’ve spent the last three years trying to convince you to go out with me or something.”

She blinked at him. “You… you were really serious?” she said. “This whole time?”

Ouch. “I’m so glad you noticed,” he replied, slightly peeved.

She stood for a moment, silent, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Do… do you really like me?” she asked softly.

 _‘I love you. I’ve loved you since the day we met, and I always will.’_ He looked away. “…Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, I really do.”

Wow, it was out there. He’d said it and he hadn’t _died._ He wanted to look at her but he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. He could feel her gaze boring into him, all the confidence the suit brought him melting away until he just felt like plain old Adrien Agreste in magical cat ears. A part of him felt relieved he’d finally gotten the words out, but the silence was becoming unbearable. If only she would say something…

“What a coincidence,” she said finally. Her voice was wavering again but it was different this time. Nervous still, but a different kind of nervous. Somehow.

“Coincidence?” He mustered up the courage to glance over at her and she was blushing furiously, but her gaze was steady.

“Yeah,” she said. “Because I happen to like you too.”

This was normally the part where his alarm clock started blaring, Nathalie banging on his door that he was going to be late down to breakfast. But after a few seconds of silence there was no alarm, no Nathalie. A chilly breeze ruffled his hair. “What?” he said faintly.

“I — I like you,” she stammered, her cheeks now nearly matching her suit.

“…You do?” Ladybug hadn’t melted away or grown an extra head. He was still wearing pants. This certainly _seemed_ real, but it couldn’t possibly be. This whole day had to be one drawn-out fantasy sequence. Maybe he was in a coma.

She twiddled with her braid again. “Geeze, are you really gonna make me say it again? I like you, okay? What you want, should I draw you a diagram?”

His insides were doing something weird and he gripped the railing behind him for support before his legs gave out entirely. “A-are you sure?” he asked, for lack of anything better to say.

She snorted. “What do you mean, _am I sure_? Of course I’m sure! What kind of a question is that?”

Oh boy. “You like me,” he repeated dimly. The pieces of the puzzle were all fitting together but the complete image still seemed jumbled.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Are you — is that… okay?” She took his hand, slowly, tentatively, and somehow it just _clicked._

This was really happening. She _liked_ him.

“ _Okay_?” He was grinning like an idiot and he didn’t even care. He laced their fingers together, looking at their entwined hands, an incredible heat filling his chest and running up and down his spine. “Y-yeah,” he said, nodding absently. “It’s more than okay.”

“Oh. Oh, good.” She was trying really hard to suppress her own smile but gave up and squeezed his hand instead.

He’d thought after the kiss that he couldn’t possibly be happier than he was then, but she’d proved him wrong. If a perfect moment existed, this was it. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles like he’d so often done before, but this time was different. This time she knew he meant it.

“You know,” she said, only the barest trace of nervousness in her voice now, “my face is up here—”

His lips were on hers before she’d even finished the sentence.

It was sweeter this time, slower, thunder instead of lightning. Compared to the last one it was positively prudish. But at the same time it couldn’t be compared at all. If the last kiss was born of desperation, this one was the purest reflection of the partnership, the _friendship_ leading up to it — the slow, agonizing burn of a moment nearly four years in the making, gentle and careful and _perfect_. He was vaguely aware of her hand on his cheek but then her lips parted slightly and nothing else mattered but the taste of her, and she was pulling him closer and his arm snaked around her waist to lift her up — her arms wrapped around his neck and she was _smiling_ now into his mouth.

He broke away just long enough to look at her, pink-cheeked and breathless and so _beautiful_ he could only stare in awe. She _liked_ him. This was real. He felt lightheaded, so deliriously happy he couldn’t speak even if he had the words to express it.

“What?” she asked, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes.

“I just…” He squeezed her tighter, spinning her around so she laughed with delight. “I can’t believe this is _real_ ,” he breathed. He set her down gently, but didn’t let her go. He never wanted to let her go now.

She smiled and nudged his nose with her own. “Me neither,” she murmured.

“I mean, I knew you couldn’t resist my charms forever,” he joked, pretending to preen and flex.

“Oh, really?”

“It was bound to happen eventually,” he said with a mock-sigh. “It always does.”

“Do you have a lot of superhero girlfriends? And here I thought I was special.” She was trying to sound stern, but the effect was ruined by the grin dimpling her cheeks.

His ears pricked up. “Why, my Lady, did you just call yourself my _girlfriend_?” He struggled to keep his voice level but his heart was doing backflips.

She blushed. “Wh-who said anything about girlfriends?” she stammered.

His grin widened. “Unless I am _very_ much mistaken, I believe you just did.”

She tapped his bell, still beet-red. “I think we’re getting sidetracked,” she mumbled.

“No-no-no, I think this is very much on-topic,” he said, pulse hammering. “Is there something you’d like to share?”

“Just shut up and kiss me again,” she demanded, hooking a finger in his collar.

“Don’t think you can just use your feminine wiles on me and I’ll forget about this,” he warned, although the sternness of his voice wavered as she trailed tiny kisses down his jaw.

“Really?” she murmured into his ear. “Isn’t it working?”

“I — _aah_ ,” he groaned as she trailed a finger down his chest, driving him gently back against the railing. “A-absolutely not.”

She chuckled lightly, hovering a hair’s breadth from his parted lips. “Are you sure?”

He whined as she pressed against him, delicately wrapping an arm around his neck as his grip on her hips tightened, a perfectly innocent expression on her face. “You said something about kissing,” he offered weakly, the gentle finger she was running up and down his neck giving him goosebumps.

“ _Chaton_ , do you want to kiss me again?” she asked sweetly.

“God yes,” he breathed, and she laughed into his mouth as he kissed her, pulling her closer as the world melted away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've probably noticed my updating has been... sporadic lately. It's exam season, so that's mostly why. ~~(kill me)~~ Hopefully I'll be able to update more regularly once summer starts. Although I'll (hopefully) be moving in the next few months, but I'll let y'all know if I have to go away again.
> 
> Also, since it was brought up in the comments on the last chapter, there probably won't be any outright sin in this particular fic, just FYI. I've updated the fic tags because of the swearing and the sloppy makeouts and horny teenage shenanigans that have and will happen, but this won't be a hardcore sinfic (not explicitly, anyway). Maybe someday, but not this one. Sorry.
> 
> Listened to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0go2nfVXFgA) on repeat while writing this chapter, it's ridiculous how well it fits the lovesquare. My hopelessly lovestruck idiots <3
> 
> Tumblr is [here!](http:/ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/)


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which your favorite neighborhood DJ is Suspicious™ and Alya is having exactly None Of This Shit.

Nino was not stupid, nor was he unobservant. True, he might not quite measure up to Alya’s — frankly terrifying — talent for ferreting out the unknown, but that did not mean he was completely clueless. He simply preferred to mind his own business.

His loyalty trumped all else, naturally — he’d gotten Akumatized on Adrien’s behalf, after all — but for the most part he was content to let other people worry about their own lives while he continued on with his. It didn’t render him oblivious, by any means; it simply meant that for the most part, he knew when to push and when to keep quiet.

Of course, if his best friend happened to wander around school with a punch-drunk grin on his face… Well. His “wait and listen” policy might be a bit difficult to stick to, in such a situation.

Adrien drifted into class a little late. That in itself was not unusual, it was more the way he did it. Typically, when he was late, he slipped in silently and grabbed a seat in the back, whispering profuse and sincere apologies to the teacher. The teacher would in turn glower disapprovingly, perhaps wagging an admonishing finger in his general direction with reminders to Not Let This Happen Again, despite everyone in the room knowing full-well that A) it most definitely _would_ Happen Again, and B) there was nothing anyone could do about it, given that his father was who he was.

His schedule would continue to be haphazard and unpredictable, and Mr Agreste would continue to give zero shits about anyone involved and continue to shovel money at the school or do whatever it was that kept the administration from raising too much of a stink about Adrien’s constant absences and tardiness. Still, it was a _routine_ — one that worked with Adrien’s unfailing politeness and gave the teachers a sense of control over the situation.

This time, however, he breezed through the door — quietly, although it seemed to be more a side-effect of habit rather than through any conscious effort on his part — and glided to a stop next to Nino, who joined the rest of the class in staring as Adrien dropped into the empty chair with a sigh. He settled forward on the desk without taking out his books, gazing vaguely ahead with a dreamy look on his face. The teacher, who had paused her scribblings on the board to look at him when he came in, cleared her throat.

“You’re late,” she said.

“Hmm?” Adrien blinked. “Oh. Yes. Sorry.”

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she said.

“Of course.” He sat up slightly sheepishly, but the far-away look on his face didn’t waver, like he wasn’t really listening.

“You’ll want your textbook for this,” she added, with a pointed look. “Page 84. And maybe take some notes, while you’re at it? That is, if my class isn’t disrupting your daydreaming?”

Adrien’s ears went pink as he reached for his bag. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”

He doodled in the margins of his notebook the entire lesson.

Nino elbowed him in the ribs when the bell rang. “Dude, what’s up with you today?”

Adrien shrugged. “It’s a nice day,” he murmured cryptically.

Nino glanced outside at the steel-gray clouds, weak sunlight fighting to break through. “I… guess?” Adrien was practically glowing, and actually _hummed_ as he repacked his bag and breezed from the classroom. Nino had to jog just to keep up. “What’s your _deal_ , man? You were barely paying attention in class back there. You _love_ math.”

“I was paying attention!” Adrien’s miffed tone of voice would have been more effective had he not been grinning like an idiot.

Nino raised an eyebrow. “I saw you doodling. Were those _hearts_?”

Adrien’s face went red immediately. “No,” he said defensively.

“Very convincing.”

“I wasn’t drawing hearts,” Adrien insisted, still blushing.

“Uh-huh.”

“I _wasn’t_!”

Nino eyed him sideways as they wove through the sea of students. He was acting really weird, and not just absent-minded as had become the norm the last few months. He seemed dazed, dreamy, even. There was a spring in his step Nino hadn’t seen for weeks, and he seemed blissfully unaware of the goings-on around him — as evidenced by the way he passed a group of giggling first-years. “Hey, Adrien,” one of them began shyly, clutching a magazine with his face on the cover. “Would you sign… my…” She trailed off, smile fading as he brushed past her, that stupid, dazed expression still on his face.

“Sorry, he’s not feeling well,” apologized Nino helplessly as he rushed past them, struggling to keep up with Adrien’s ridiculously long legs.

The girls looked crestfallen. “Told you he wouldn’t do it,” muttered one. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Dude, slow _down_.” Nino caught on to Adrien’s shirtsleeve, dragging him to a stop.

“What?”

“What do you mean, _what_? You _always_ sign autographs. You could have at least _said_ something.”

“Autographs?” Adrien looked genuinely confused.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t even _notice_ them! There was a group of girls back there and you completely blew them off.”

Adrien looked instantly alarmed. “I — what? I did?” He looked anxiously back the way they came, scanning the crowd. “I — should I go back?”

“Don’t bother, they’re gone now.” Nino pulled him off to the side so they weren’t blocking the hallway anymore and squinted at him. “But seriously, are you okay?” he asked in a low voice. “You’ve been acting really strangely all day. It’s kind of freaking me out, man.”

“’Course I’m fine,” said Adrien, looking for the first time that day like his normal self, although there was still that slightly drunken smile creeping back into place. “I’m great, actually. C’mon, let’s get to class.”

For the first hour or so he seemed to be putting in more of an effort — actually taking notes this time, raising his hand, generally acting like the star pupil he normally was — but as the minutes ticked closer to lunch his focus wavered, slumping further and further onto his desk, eyes glazed, expression distant. The teacher didn’t seem to notice as they were seated closer to the back this time, but when Nino glanced over periodically he saw Adrien lazily leaning forward, chin in hand, pencil tapping an absent rhythm on his notebook. Occasionally the corners of his mouth would twitch, the ghost of a dopey grin threatening to resurface.

He jerked out of his reverie with a very sharp intake of breath when the bell rang, blinking rapidly as the rush of movement and chattering classmates surrounded him. He had his bag packed in minutes, seemingly as eager as the rest of them to escape the stuffy room, but Nino lagged behind while the rest of his fellow students filed out into the hallway, pretending to misplace a pen.

Adrien, who had been hovering over him while he searched for his imaginary pen, checked his watch as the final stragglers left. “Hey, you ready to go yet?”

Nino surreptitiously glanced around the room to make sure it was empty, and dropped the act. “First, you and I are going to talk,” he said sternly.

“Talk?”

“Yes, _talk_.” He crossed his arms. “You know I don’t normally pry,” he began.

Adrien swallowed. “And have I ever told you what a wonderful quality that is?” he said, a nervous edge creeping into his voice. “Really spectacular. One of the many reasons I love you so dearly.”

“C’mon, Adrien, you can talk to me. What’s going on? You’ve been acting all ditzy and spaced out. What, did you get laid or something?”

There was a pause as Adrien blinked at him. “No,” he said, but his cheeks were slightly pink.

“Hah! You _did_!” Nino laughed at his expression, which was rapidly glazing over as the color in his face began spreading down his neck. “Wait, don’t tell me, it was one of those model girls you were telling me about? Was it the one that tried to get you to unzip her—”

“ _No_ , and I’ll have you know Stéphanie is a very nice girl. It’s not her fault that dress was so impossible,” said Adrien, jerking back to reality again. “And anyway, why would I hide something like that? From _you_ , of all people?”

Why, indeed? Adrien wasn’t the sort of person to “kiss and tell,” but they’d talked about this kind of thing before. Getting all the sordid details wasn’t really their style, but a general “who” wouldn’t be off the table. Not unless the “who” would get him into trouble with his friends. Like Chloé, for instance. Or…

Wait.

The smiling. The blushing. The _hearts_. It was all very familiar, although with someone very different. And with the whole business at the skate park… “Oh my God,” said Nino, feeling the grin fade from his face. “Did you…?”

“Did I what?”

Nino hardly realized he was holding his breath until his voice came out in a wheeze. “Please tell me you didn’t hook up with Marinette.”

There was the briefest of pauses in which Adrien just stared at him. Then something seemed to click and his face exploded into color, the faint pink tinge deepening immediately to the red of a boiled lobster. “I — what… _No_ , of _course_ not!” he spluttered.

Nino pressed his fingers to his eyes until he saw stars, his glasses threatening to slip off any moment. “Oh my God.”

“I — I mean, we, we didn’t—”

“Didn’t you listen to a word I said?” said Nino despairingly, readjusting his glasses. “She’s finally getting over you, man! It’s been, what, six months? I mean, I know you, like, _just_ discovered you have hormones, but complicating this whole trainwreck with _sex_ is just—”

“I didn’t have sex with Marinette!”

“So, what, you made out with her?”

“No!”

“Then why do you look so guilty?”

“I’m not guilty, I’m embarrassed!” He certainly looked the part — his complexion now rivaled Ladybug’s suit in color. “Honestly, I almost forgot about… _that_.”

“You mean a whole week ago when you asked me for advice on your _raging boner_?” Nino deadpanned.

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “It wasn’t like that,” he mumbled.

“Oh, _come on_ , you wanted to bang her like a drum. And now you’re mooning around like an idiot and your face is redder that Nathanaël’s hair. You do realize you haven’t stopped smiling since you got here, right? You’re either drunk or you hit that, so which is it?”

“Neither, I swear.”

He sounded so sincere that had it not been for his furiously blushing face — a blush that not only covered his cheeks but had migrated down his neck and was rapidly spreading to his ears — Nino would have believed him completely. As it was, he could only sigh. “Well then, who is she?” he asked instead.

“She — there is no _she_!”

“Who’s _he_ , then?”

“There’s no ‘he,’ either!”

“Fine, don’t tell me.” Nino deflated slightly. “I’m sorry for the interrogation, I just… I’m, like, super-happy for you and all — don’t give me that look, I’m not an idiot — but… You know you can talk to me, right?”

“’Course I do,” said Adrien, flush fading gradually to a less alarming shade, “but there’s nothing to tell.”

Nino didn’t buy that for a second, but there was no point in arguing anymore so he gave up. “Okay,” he said wearily, picking up his bag. “Let’s just go find the girls, then.”

He almost didn’t catch the fleeting look of utter _relief_ that crossed Adrien’s face as he nodded. Almost. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

“Just… just try to keep it together around Alya, I guess,” he offered as they wound their way through the now mostly empty halls. “Unless you want to play ‘20 questions’ all afternoon.”

Adrien’s ears were still slightly pink.

The weather was warming steadily, disregarding last-night’s storm. Tiny buds were beginning to appear on branches and dawn was inching its way earlier and earlier every day; however, it was still _March_. Alya was waiting on a bench outside — apparently emboldened by the clearer skies from early this morning, she wasn’t wearing a scarf, a fact she clearly seemed to regret given the way she was huddled in on herself with her collar turned up. Marinette on the other hand, perched beside her, didn’t seem to noticed the chilly breeze that ruffled her bangs, waving excitedly as the boys approached.

Cheerful Marinette was a welcome sight after the moodiness since September, but she seemed downright giddy at the sight of them. Nino caught Alya’s eye and raised an eyebrow, to which she only shrugged. The look on her face gave him the impression that she was dealing with the same best-friend situation he had been, although in her case the strange behavior seemed to include fewer boners and more perky chattering.

“Hey, Nino! Hi, Adrien!” Marinette bubbled as they came within earshot. “Isn’t it just the most _gorgeous_ day today?” Nino opened his mouth to say something, but Alya shot him a “Don’t ask” look and he closed it again.

“It is, isn’t it?” agreed Adrien dreamily. Nino glanced back at him but he wasn’t looking at Marinette, instead staring vaguely into space as he slipped back into whatever dream spot he’d been in all morning. Nino trod surreptitiously on his foot and he straightened instantly, blinking rapidly to focus.

 _‘Pull yourself together, man,’_ Nino willed him grimly. If he had to do this all afternoon… Alya was going to have a field day. Luckily she hadn’t seemed to notice Adrien’s dazed appearance yet, but once they got somewhere warmer with food, all bets were off.

“Oh, I just _love_ this time of year,” Marinette continued with an airy sigh.

“Yeah, the below-freezing temperatures are my _favorite_ ,” said Alya drily, slightly muffled from the depths of her coat.

“I know, right?” If Marinette picked up on the sarcasm she made no verbal note of it, instead happily swinging her legs. Her cheeks were flushed, but something about her behavior made him suddenly unsure it had anything to do with the cold.

“So… What’s up?” he asked.

“Just freezing our asses off waiting for you two slowpokes to arrive,” grumbled Alya, getting to her feet and stomping a few times as if to shake them awake. “Neither of you would happen to have an extra pair of gloves or anything, would you? I think my fingers are going to fall off.”

“Uh, I think Adrien does.” He nudged Adrien in the ribs when there was no response.

“Huh? Oh, um, here.” Adrien unwrapped his scarf and handed it to Alya. “I forgot my gloves this morning, sorry.”

She looked longingly at the offering but hesitated, her fingers twitching just shy of actually touching it. “Don’t you need this?”

He shrugged. “I’m fine. It’s not too cold for me.”

“Lucky. Ooh, is this cashmere?” She wrapped the scarf around her neck, tucking it reverently into her coat. “Oh my God, it’s _warm_. Bless you and your entire family.”

“Glad I could help.”

“He’s so _nice_ ,” said Marinette happily. “You’re so _nice_ , Adrien.”

“Thanks.” He was smiling again.

“Isn’t he just so _nice_? And the weather is so _nice_ , everything is so _great_ today.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Alya and Nino exchanged a look. Marinette and Adrien had been making progress at becoming friends again over the past few months, but there had still been some residual tension in the air — now, the way they were chattering happily about how _great_ everything was, it was like nothing had happened between them at all.

This would have been a wonderful change of pace, had it not been for the fact that the change had happened so suddenly, seemingly overnight — and neither Marinette nor Adrien seemed to notice the difference. Of course, it wasn’t like they were hanging off each other, or even standing particularly close, but the whole underlying vibe between them had _shifted_ somehow. With what Nino knew on Adrien’s end, and the Skate Park Debacle behind them, there were some obvious conclusions to draw from the current situation.

It also appeared Alya had some inside knowledge from Marinette’s side of things, clear from the way she subtly arched an eyebrow at him, and he had the distinct feeling there was going to be an interrogation taking place in his very near future. He assumed the only reason she wasn’t dragging him off immediately was because the need to observe the situation was too strong — it wasn’t like their friends would have noticed their absence, gushing about the weather as they were.

If _something_ hadn’t happened between them, he would eat his hat.

“Are you guys ready to go?” he asked. He hoped his confusion — and mounting suspicions — weren’t as visible on his face as they felt, but neither Marinette nor Adrien seemed to take any notice at all.

“Absolutely,” chirped Marinette, bouncing to her feet. She actually _bounced_ , twin braids bobbing behind her.

“Any particular destination in mind?” he asked, if only to fill the silence as no-one chimed in.

“I think I know a place,” said Alya. Nino glanced at her, her eyes glinting behind her glasses. He could practically see the wheels in her head spinning madly. He knew that look; she was planning something.

“Great! Let’s go!” Marinette scampered off after Alya and Nino, but turned around and grabbed Adrien’s wrist as he plodded along behind them. “C’mon, slowpoke.”

They paired off as they walked down the street and rounded a corner; Nino and Alya in front, Marinette talking to Adrien a few steps behind. Or rather, _at_ him. He was playing with his ring as he nodded in time to her constant stream of chatter, twisting it absently.

Alya caught Nino’s eye again, eyebrows furrowed. “Okay, what is his deal?” she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

Nino winced internally. “I… have no idea,” he said, only half-lying. He glanced back over his shoulder, at Marinette gesturing animatedly with her hands to illustrate some point. “In fact, I could ask you the same thing.”

Alya threw her hands up despairingly. “She’s been like that all day,” she said. “Your guess is as good as mine. Normally I’d be over the moon about this — I mean, I’ve _missed_ her, y’know? — but with everything that’s happened… And whatever _that_ is,” she added, gesturing vaguely with a thumb over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Nino agreed, not quite sure how to respond.

“I mean, when was the last time they were _that_ close?” she continued in a low whisper. “If _ever_?”

Nino could only shrug.

“And it was so… _sudden_ ,” she said, eyebrows knitting together in concentration. “We’ve been talking about the Adrien Situation and she’s been getting better, but _this_? This is too fast.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “He hasn’t… said anything to you, has he?”

“No,” he admitted, which was technically true. Not today, anyway.

She pursed her lips. “Well, _something_ happened,” she said decisively. “And I’m going to find out what.”

He didn’t want to ask. “…How?” he asked.

“You’ll see,” she answered cryptically.

“Alya…” he began warningly. He didn’t like the look in her eye. He knew the drama the past few months had been driving her up the wall, not to mention whatever secret project she’d been isolating herself with off and on, but there was something in her now that bordered on maniacal, for lack of a better word. He was worried she would do something they’d all regret.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, hush, it’ll be _fine_. Here we are,” she added brightly, her voice rising to a normal volume as she stopped suddenly. Marinette nearly bumped into her.

“Where are—” she began, and stopped. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and Nino pivoted to see what she was looking at.

It was a café. _The_ Café, to be more precise. The one that started it all. Nino glanced at Alya but she avoided his eyes, instead carefully studying Marinette’s reaction.

“This is,” Marinette began quietly, and swallowed. “Alya, why are we here?”

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Alya innocently. Oh, God, she _definitely_ had an agenda. If there was anywhere in Paris that could confirm her — _their_ — theory on location alone, this was it. It was almost uncharacteristically cruel of her, to bring them all back _here_ just to prove a point, but with everything that had happened he almost had to admit it was darkly brilliant. That didn’t mean he had to agree with it.

Marinette looked at her. “You know what’s wrong with it,” she said, almost too softly to hear.

Alya’s eyes widened almost comically. “Oh,” she said, in a voice of falsely dawning understanding as she glanced between Marinette and the café sign. “ _Oh_. Oh my God, I didn’t realize — I’m sorry Marinette, I totally forgot—”

Marinette was silent, hesitant, her bubbly exterior cracking ever-so-slightly for the first time that day. Nino felt a stab of empathy for her. _‘I should have paid more attention,’_ he cursed internally, shooting Alya a look. _‘I saw Alya’s face, I should have known.’_

“We can go somewhere else,” offered Alya, the weight of what she tried to do appearing to finally catch up to her brain. She looked almost guilty as she backpedaled. “I’m sorry, I’ve been here with my parents since you showed me, I totally thought this was somewhere else—”

“N-no.” An unidentifiable expression flitted across Marinette’s face before a look of determination settled in her eye. “No. I’m fine. This is cool.” Her voice was low, and Nino couldn’t help but feel a nearly overwhelming sense of pride as she squared her shoulders, steeling herself before their very eyes. “I’ve missed their onion soup, anyway.” It could very well have been a pep-talk for her own benefit as well as Alya’s, but it seemed to do the trick. The wilting, tentative Marinette vanished as quickly as she had come, her cheerful demeanor resurfacing, albeit slightly restrained this time. She slipped through the door without looking back.

Alya shot Nino a triumphant look and he sighed as she followed Marinette. “Coming, Adrien?” he said wearily.

“Huh? Oh yeah, sorry.” Adrien was looking around with the distinct air of someone lost in thought — and apparently _very_ happy about it — but visibly attempted to pull himself together as the tinkling of the bell on the door faded.

“Woah, hold on a sec.” Nino grabbed his sleeve. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He chewed on his lip, Adrien looking at him quizzically. “Look, man. I know we just talked about this, but seriously, you gotta snap out of it. Doze off in class all you want, but Alya’s a bloodhound today. Marinette’s been acting weird and now you…”

“Marinette’s been acting weird?”

“This is what I mean! You’re totally out of it. Alya’s starting to _notice_ , man. The way you two have been acting…”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean? We were just talking.”

“That’s what I mean, man. When was the last time you and Marinette _talked_ for fifteen minutes straight?” Nino massaged his temples, a vague headache beginning to throb somewhere around his ears. “Look, I can hold her off if she tries to talk to me later, but right now is not the best time for you to check out unless you want to have _that_ conversation with _Alya_ in _public._ You just need to pull yourself together for at least the next hour. Okay?”

Adrien opened his mouth to argue, closed it again, and inhaled slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, yeah. I can do this.” He straightened, arranging his expression into something more natural. “One hour.”

“At _least_. Maybe two.” Nino patted his arm encouragingly. “Just… stay casual. Pretend you’re on one of your photoshoots or something, I don’t know.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just drape myself across the tables and try to imagine Mom’s spaghetti, right?” Adrien said drily.

“I have no idea what that means, but at least you’re making jokes, I guess.”

They entered and began making their way around the tables to a booth in the back that the girls had already claimed, when Adrien’s steps faltered for a moment. “Wait,” he said, looking around, a hint of recognition dawning on his face. “Isn’t this…?”

“Yup,” said Nino dully. “Alya’s idea.”

“But why would she…?” He looked confused — concerned, even. “Is Marinette okay?”

“I think so.” Nino eyed him. “Are you?”

Adrien blinked, taking in their surroundings. “I guess,” he said, but he sounded doubtful. “I mean, if Marinette’s cool with it…”

“Accepting the situation and being cool with it are two different things,” said Nino darkly. “But yeah, she seemed okay. After the shock wore off.” Adrien still looked slightly worried. “Look, as long as you’re alright, and she hasn’t run out screaming, I think we’ll be fine. Trust me, Alya is going to hear about this.”

He seemed pacified, although just barely, and they finished the trek through the now much fuller dining area. Nino slid into place beside Marinette. “You good?” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. She responded with the slightest nod of her head, a tiny twitch of her lips indicating the check-in was appreciated.

“So,” said Alya brightly as she moved her purse for Adrien to sit down. “Who’s ready to order?”

The meal was just as good as the first time, the conversation just as lively, although Nino could practically taste the underlying tension. The problem this time, however, lay squarely between him and Alya. He knew she was just curious, as she always was, but one thing he’d always appreciated about her was that as a rule, she never pried too hard into their friends. It was practically sacred in her mind, the vow to never knowingly weasel out of her closest friends and family what they would tell her themselves. And since she was normally such a loyal, trustworthy person, they inevitably always did anyway. She’d always considered anything they didn’t give her willingly off the table.

Today however, she’d clearly decided, was the day she would throw caution to the wind along with all her friendship-related morals. It wouldn’t be obvious to the outside observer, or even necessarily Adrien and Marinette themselves — especially in their current conditions — but Nino knew what she was doing and picked up on every single sly comment, every seemingly innocent question that gave her unwitting targets pause; saw her make note of every stutter and sift through every comment looking for an incriminating slip of the tongue.

She was good — there was no denying Alya was an artist at what she did. She was nothing if not subtle. And he knew that even if Marinette and Adrien had been at the top of their game there would still have been a huge chance they’d have fallen into her trap anyway; who would have suspected Alya to turn her “gift” on _them_? The apparent sinking of the so-called good ship “Adrienette” had been hard for all of them, but was she really so frustrated that she would manipulate Marinette — her _best friend_ — in such an… _underhanded_ way? Sure, Marinette seemed to be handling the situation far better than he expected, but still. There were certain lines he hadn’t expected Alya to cross.

“Hey Alya,” he said suddenly, “would you come with me for a sec?”

Alya, who he’d interrupted just as she was telling a _riveting_ tale of a chemistry class gone wrong, blinked at him. “But I’m eating,” she said thickly, crumbs escaping her lips and raining down on the tablecloth.

“It’ll just take a sec,” he said pointedly, trying to convey with only his eyebrows how little choice she had in the matter.

She took the hint and sighed, reluctantly putting down her sandwich. “Fine,” she muttered. “’Scuse me,” she added at Adrien, who scooted aside so she could pass.

Nino dragged her off in the direction of the bathrooms and cornered her safely out of the way of any passing patrons or staff. “Alya,” he began dangerously.

She put up her hands in a placating gesture. “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” she said, a hint of guilt in her voice. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Seriously, what the hell?” He wanted to yell at her, but settled for a harsh whisper instead. “Are you crazy? _Here_? You couldn’t, like, have given me a heads up?”

“You would have tried to talk me out of it,” she said, although the tone of her voice suggested she almost regretted not letting him.

“You’re damn right I would have tried to talk you out of it,” he said angrily. “What were you thinking, putting them through this? Putting _Marinette_ through this?”

“I know, okay?” She pursed her lips, not quite meeting his eyes. “I… I had a hunch.”

“You couldn’t have talked to me first? Talked to _her_? Or Adrien? Or maybe — and here’s a really crazy idea — _suggested the place before we came here_? You could have watched their reactions _then_ , if it was so goddamn important.”

“It wouldn’t have worked as well,” she protested petulantly. “They’d have had time to think, and there wouldn’t have been as much of an emotional impact, y’know?” She sounded nearly unconvinced by her own argument, but pressed on nonetheless. “It’s easier to fake a reaction if you’re just faced with the _idea_ of something. I needed to see what they _really_ felt. Speaking of which,” she added, that sly edge sneaking back into her voice, “how did Adrien take it? Did he say anything?”

“The first thing he did was ask if Marinette was okay,” said Nino shortly, feeling a slight stab of sickly triumph as she deflated again. “And you’re lucky she is, because can you even imagine how close you were to completely _crushing_ her?”

“I knew she could handle it,” mumbled Alya defiantly. “It’s not like I was gonna force her inside or anything.”

“And yet, here we are.” She opened her mouth to protest but he steamrolled over her. “And you need to stop this… this _interrogation_ of yours. _They_ might be out of it, but don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing.”

“It’s not an interrogation,” she argued. “It’s… recon. I told you, something’s going on between them.”

“You can’t wait for two goddamn hours? You can’t let Marinette tell you herself, so you’re treating her like you treat gossiping first-years in the girl’s bathroom?” She flushed. “I’m surprised at you, Alya. You always swore you’d never do that.”

“It’s not the same,” she said defensively, guiltily. “I’ve _tried_ to do it the easy way. But can you honestly say you aren’t curious? Last week they could barely speak to each other.” She pointed across the dining hall, at their table where Marinette was giggling at something Adrien said — a scant five meters from the door she’d fled through mere months earlier. “Look at them now. If you didn’t know them, wouldn’t you assume they were on a date right now?”

He had to admit, the certainly looked cozy over there — sitting across from each other, seemingly unaware of how casually _normal_ it looked for the two of them to chat aimlessly, taking no notice of their missing friends and the half-eaten extraneous lunches on the table beside them. At one point, Marinette reached over and swiped at Adrien’s face with a napkin, as if that was something she did all the time. The completely natural air to their interactions made the whole scene feel distinctly _un_ natural. Nino felt as if he had stepped into an alternate universe.

“Don’t you dare tell me for a _second_ you don’t want to know what’s going on,” Alya said.

“Of course I do,” said Nino, forcing himself to turn back to face her. “But that doesn’t mean you have to do that… _thing_ you do.”

They glared at each other, arms crossed, a silent battle of wills that lasted damn near a whole thirty seconds. Then she sighed, deflating against the wall. “Fine,” she said. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll restrain myself.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” said Nino. His anger was fading, but she wasn’t off the hook quite yet. “Seriously, this is so… not _you_. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing!” She was defensive again. “It’s frustrating, okay? I want them to get together just as much as you do. Or did, I guess.” She eyed him. “Don’t you?” she asked pointedly.

“I want them to be happy,” he replied carefully. He wasn’t entirely sure at this point whether getting them to hook up was the best way to achieve that at this point — but she didn’t need to know that. _That_ was a conversation best saved for a more private location. “But if — _hypothetically_ — they figured all that shit out on their own, they don’t need you forcing it out of them before they’re ready. _If something happened_ ,” he continued over her beginning protests, “don’t you think Marinette would say something?”

She let out a whine of frustration mingled with defeat and scowled at him, but he knew he’d won. She could bitch about it all she wanted, but they both knew she was in the wrong here. And although something was clearly going on with her to make her act so… out of character to begin with, that was a discussion for another day. The most important thing was that she stopped _this_.

“Fine,” she repeated sullenly. “Are you done? Can I go back to my sandwich now?” He waved her off and she spun on her heel, readjusting her glasses as she went. It was amazing, the way girls — especially this particular girl — had the ability to compartmentalize and put on an act when they had to, because by the time they got back to the table she was all smiles again, slipping smoothly right back where she left off in her story as if it were the most natural thing in the world. If she weren’t so dead set on truthseeking and journalism in general, she would have made an amazing actress.

He kept half an eye on her the rest of the meal, but she didn’t slip up. She joked and chatted like she had before, only now the subtle digs and leading questions were gone. It was almost like a switch had been flipped. She was clearly struggling to restrain herself, but restrain herself she did — and she did it well. The only hint in her that their conversation had even taken place was a slight unwillingness to meet his eyes.

Marinette was holding up remarkably well, considering. There was a slight awkwardness to her when they first started eating, but it slowly melted away as the conversation picked up and by now she was laughing and joking as much as the rest of them. The only sign of discomfort he could tell was that her energetic bounciness from earlier had been slightly subdued. She seemed more normal now than she had been all day, but somehow that concerned him; her enthusiastic giddiness had been disconcerting at first, but the sudden lack of it was even more so. Either way, he was glad she seemed to be taking the situation so well — _‘Although,’_ he considered, with a quick side-glance at Alya, _‘she could just be really good at hiding it.’_ Marinette really had the worst pokerface of all time, but you never knew.

Adrien, he noticed, was doing a spectacular job holding up his end of the conversation. There were a few occasions where he would lapse into silence, his eyes glazing over slightly as he smiled privately into his food, but on the whole he was doing much better than Nino could have hoped. The question of _what_ , exactly, was so amazing he couldn’t stop imagining it was, of course, moderately aggravating, but as long as he kept it together long enough for Alya to regain her composure it would have to do.

Once the food was mostly gone they paused for a moment, debating potential desserts. “I don’t know,” said Marinette thoughtfully, resting her chin on steepled fingers. “I’m pretty full…”

“C’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?” teased Alya, and Marinette bounced slightly as if she’d been kicked lovingly in the shin. “All those innocent cakes, just _waiting_ to be eaten…”

“I literally live in a bakery, though. It’s not like I’ll never get to have cake ever again.”

“I was going to have some macarons,” said Adrien.

“What kind?” demanded Alya. “Flavor choice is very important.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged, corners of his mouth twitching. “It doesn’t really matter, I guess. I like them all.” Was that a blush starting to creep across his cheeks? Nino pursed his lips. Why the hell would he be _blushing_ about macarons?

“I…” began Marinette, and frowned slightly. She gave a little shake of her head, like she was trying to clear it, and smiled. “You’re right, macarons do sound good. I’ll come with you.”

It was then that Alya finally cracked. “Okay, that’s it,” she said decisively, smacking her hands on the table hard enough to make them all jump. “I’ve had it.”

Adrien and Marinette both looked at her. “Had it with what?” asked Marinette.

“You two! I’ve had it! I’m done!” She pushed her plate aside, as if clearing space for her words. “When did you two hook up?”

There was a spluttering noise as Adrien choked on his glass of water. Marinette furrowed her brow. “What on earth are you talking about?” she asked, no trace of anything but confusion on her face.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” said Alya, waving her hand dismissively. “You’ve been making bedroom eyes at each other all afternoon. Honestly, you might as well have it stamped across your foreheads. C’mon, girl, why didn’t you say anything?”

“We didn’t—” began a furiously blushing Adrien.

“I don’t—” continued an utterly bewildered Marinette.

“Goddammit, Alya,” finished an exasperated Nino, pressing down on his eyes so hard he was sure they would rocket backwards into the depths of his skull.

“Oh, _come on_ ,” said Alya despairingly, glowering around the table. “I just said what we were all thinking!”

“I can guarantee you,” said Nino, muffled by his own hands, “absolutely no-one was thinking that right now.”

“Traitor,” said Alya, sticking her tongue out at him.

There was a split second of silence as Adrien busied himself with mopping as much of his spilled drink as possible, red as a beet. Marinette still looked genuinely perplexed. “Alya,” she said in a low voice, “I promise you, Adrien and I have never—”

There was a crunching noise and a screech from outside. Patrons and staff alike froze, the sounds of running footsteps pounding back and forth across the pavement outside as people flitted in and out of view of the big windows by the café door. Choruses of “What?” and “Is there an Akuma?” overlapped each other in varying stages of panic as screams resumed faintly from the street. Adrien and Marinette were instantly on their feet.

“I gotta go,” they said in perfect unison, then glanced at each other in surprise.

“Wait, shouldn’t we stick together?” said Nino, getting to his feet as Marinette scooted past him. The other patrons were milling around, no-one feeling safe enough to leave but everyone too panicked to stay.

“O-oh,” said Marinette, “but my parents—”

“Nathalie’s gonna flip,” said Adrien nervously.

“So call them,” suggested Alya, sounding more miffed that her interrogation had been cut short than anything else.

“M-my phone—”

“I wasn’t supposed to—”

“So crazy—”

“I should really—”

As they babbled they were edging away in opposite directions into the crowd, Marinette heading for the back courtyard and Adrien slipping for the front. Alya was glancing between them suspiciously. “Well, this has been really great,” said Adrien.

“ _I’ll-see-you-later-bye_!” yelled Marinette and vanished out the back.

“Marinette, _wait_!” called Alya, but she was already gone.

“Where’s Adrien?” said Nino, but he’d disappeared too when they weren’t looking.

“Those two, I swear to _God_.”

“You’re one to talk,” said Nino sourly. “What the _fuck_ was that, Alya? You promised!”

“Now is not the time, Nino,” she countered. “I snapped, okay? You can chew me out later. For now, we have an Akuma to film.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I,” she said primly, “am a journalist. This is what I do.” She pulled out her phone and darted for the door.

“God _dammit_ , Alya!” he muttered, pushing through the crowd after her.

The Akuma was big, almost as big as Stoneheart had been, with three sets of arms and a penchant for throwing cars. Alya was quick, but hardly car-proof, and Nino kept up a steady stream of curses as he wove haphazardly through the streets after her. It took Ladybug and Chat Noir less than two minutes to arrive on the scene. “Seems like our heroes were in the area,” Alya commented, although whether or not that was directed at him or her livestream was up for debate. He was wheezing too hard to answer her either way.

The fight was over almost as soon as it began — Ladybug and Chat apparently _very_ on the ball today. “And so once again, the day is saved,” said Alya, although Nino noted a slight hint of disappointment in her tone. Perhaps she was looking forward to a distraction after the Lunchtime Disaster. He couldn’t help but silently agree with her.

She pushed her way through the hordes of news crews and screaming fans just in time to catch the obligatory fist bump. “Ladybug!” she yelled. “Chat Noir! Do you have time to answer a few questions for the Ladyblog?”

Ladybug smiled winningly. “Sorry, no questions right now,” she said apologetically. “My partner and I should really get going.” There was an odd emphasis on _partner_ , for some reason. Nino shook his head. All Alya’s reading-into-things bullshit of the day had clearly rubbed off on him.

“Speaking of which, _my Lady_ ,” said Chat smoothly, arm around her waist. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” she agreed, and — so tiny, so fast he could have missed it if he blinked at the wrong time — she winked at him.

Chat’s cheeks went pink.

They vanished with a flick of Ladybug’s yo-yo and the crowd dispersed slowly, but Alya and Nino remained. They were silent for a while, after Alya ended the livestream.

She turned to him suddenly. “Did you see…?” she began, and trailed off.

“Did Ladybug… _wink_ at him?” He rubbed his chin, if only so he could have something to do with his hands.

“He was _blushing_ ,” said Alya disbelievingly. “I’ve never seen him blush before.”

Nino had no response to that.

“She always pushes him away,” she said, a strange edge in her voice. “But…” There was some kind of fire in her eyes, but at the same time she looked conflicted. Like she’d been presented with a highly anticipated gift, and now that it was in her hands she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“You don’t think…?”

“Ladynoir is… _real_?”

“What is it with you and your silly ship names?”

“They’re not silly! And I know you saw what I saw. They were almost worse than Adrien and Marinette!”

Nino sighed. “Can you let that go for, like, _two seconds_?”

She huffed. “Absolutely not,” she said. “I’m going to figure out what’s going on. With all four of them.”

“Alya…”

“No,” she said, and suddenly he could see delight rising in her face. “No, _listen_. I have an idea.”

“Before you ask,” he said wearily, “I’m not going to help you interrogate them like you did today.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “No, not _them_. That’s going to take _planning_. I’m talking about Ladynoir.”

“You mean _Ladybug_ and _Chat Noir_?” he asked pointedly. “You know, those two _individual people_ you’re a _huge_ fan of and would _never_ disrespect in _any way_?”

“Yeah, yeah, them,” she said distractedly. He could practically hear the cogs in her head whirring madly, plans forming at a breakneck place. “It just so happens I have an ace up my sleeve.”

She looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t feel like giving her the satisfaction of making him ask what she was thinking so he remained silent.

She smiled indulgently anyway. “I’ve been promised an _exclusive_ interview with Chat Noir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOY HOWDY THAT LAST EXAM NEARLY KILLED ME. Remind me to never try to write a 4,000 word paper in 24 hours fueled on nothing but Red Bull and a vague understanding of the curriculum again. Bullshitting can only take you so far, kiddos.
> 
> Anyway ~~here's Wonderwall~~ I'm finally free again!! I'm not sure when the next update will be since my goal is to have a few chapters stockpiled in case of Sudden Life Interruptions so the dry spells won't be quite as dry (although since it's been about a month and a half since I wrote anything last I've gotten to the point where I don't remember How To Thign and I've had to reread my own fic to remember how far along I am plot-wise lmao) — BUT I'm (hopefully) going to have a few chaps done by next week, since I'm back at my parents' house for a few weeks and being away from college has extended my life expectancy by about 10 years. I've missed the update dumps. ♡ Also my parents got a dog and he's probably the cutest thing I've ever seen. #bless
> 
> Sorry I've been gone for so long, but hey! Life sucks. Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/) about it. Also, check me out on Instagram if you wanna (link in my tumblr sidebar). I post fic teasers there sometimes! And my face is okay too, I guess. ♡


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I was supposed to write a filler but I couldn't help myself and suddenly it's 6 AM and some plot Happened Anyway.

The sounds of the crowd behind them faded as Ladybug landed them lightly on a rooftop a few blocks away, retracting her yo-yo with an off-handed flick. She went to wrap it back around herself out of habit, but found a clawed hand still wrapped around her waist. She glanced up at Chat, suddenly shy. “Hey, you,” she said softly.

“Hey yourself,” he grinned. The grip on her hip tightened slightly, claws digging into her playfully.

She squirmed. “Hey, quit it,” she protested.

The grin widened, eyes glinting mischievously. “Why, is my Lady ticklish?” he asked innocently, fingers creeping up her sides.

Ladybug fought to keep from giggling as she attempted to dance away. “Absolutely not!” she lied.

“You are a terrible liar,” he teased, catching her by her wrist and pulling her back into his chest. “How is it we’ve known each other three years and I never knew that about you?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she replied, and bit her lip as the words hung slightly between them. Last night’s fight was still fresh in her mind, even though they’d literally kissed and made up after. _‘Kissed and made out, more like,’_ she thought. A heat rose in her stomach.

There was the barest flash of _something_ crossing his face before he smiled again. “Luckily for me,” he said lightly, caressing her chin in the softest of ways, “I have all the time in the world to find out.”

Their lips barely brushed against each other, breath mingling hotly in the cool March air. Her eyes fluttered shut in anticipation, but he hesitated, thumb rubbing gently along her cheek instead. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” she murmured, snaking her hand around his neck.

He chuckled against her mouth. “I — it’s just a little hard wrapping my head around this,” he said, sounding almost embarrassed.

“Why?” She opened her eyes to meet his gaze, and his cheeks were pink under his mask.

“I-I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he admitted.

“Then do it,” she whispered, and closed the distance between them.

He smelled of sweat and cologne and his lips were even softer than she remembered, fitting against hers like they were made for each other. He kissed her softly, reverently, almost shyly as his strong arms wrapped back around her waist, and he was so warm and gentle that her body pressed closer of its own accord, wanting to feel every part of him against her. _That_ did something to him, because suddenly his lips parted and his hands gripped tighter and he made the faintest groaning noise at the back of his throat as her fingers migrated up to his hair. _Oh_ , she’d nearly forgotten those gorgeous sounds.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmured, giving her nose the tiniest of pecks.

“All day?” Her breath hitched as he kissed his way across her cheekbone and down to her jaw.

“Well,” he conceded against her neck, “more than usual anyway.”

“Funny, I haven’t thought of you at all.”

He pulled away, an almost worried expression on his face until he saw her grin. “That’s not funny, Bug,” he said in a pained voice.

“It’s a little funny.”

“Do you _want_ me to stop?” he demanded. She would have taken the threat seriously had it not been for the fact that he clearly had no intentions of doing so.

“I’m kidding, Chat.” She booped his nose. “School’s been a nightmare today,” she admitted sheepishly, butterflies in her stomach rising. “I couldn’t concentrate.”

He smirked. “Really?” he said. “Couldn’t keep your mind off me, huh?”

“Or my hands, or my lips,” she teased, noting the rising color in her partner’s face.

“Well, honestly, who could blame you?” he said, clearly trying desperately to keep the upper hand. “I mean, look at me. I’m a hot commodity.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely hot,” she mused. The sense of embarrassment she was expecting to turn her into a stuttering mess at admitting that to his face was drowned out by satisfaction of his stunned-speechless, blushing expression.

“I-if you say so,” he managed finally in a strangled voice.

He played with the end of one of her braids, looking incredibly flustered as the pink in his cheeks deepened, and he was so _cute_ she felt her heart swell. “What, cat got your tongue?” she teased.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, and chuckled. “A little,” he admitted.

“Why?” She rubbed little circles on the back of the hand resting on her hip and she felt his muscles alternately tense and relax, as though he was resisting the urge to actually knead her with his claws like an actual cat. “That can’t possibly be news.”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s… _different_ , coming from you.”

“Why?”

“It just… _is_.” She simply looked at him, genuinely curious now, and he sighed. “Stuff like that, it kind of… loses meaning after a while, I guess,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck with a free hand. “You grow up hearing it all your life, it’s like it’s just another thing people say, y’know? But you…” He looked embarrassed again. “You almost said it like you meant it.”

“And?” She kissed his still-blushing cheek and he smiled. “I happen to like you. As we established last night.” She nudged his face with her nose and he finally looked at her. “Or did I imagine that?”

“I — no. Definitely not.” He was genuinely smiling again.

“Good.” She hooked a lone finger under his chin and he followed her without prompting or protest. “Now kiss me again before I have to go back to class.”

He melted into her again, tasting of raspberry jam, and it was a good minute and a half before he jerked away suddenly. “ _Shit_ ,” he said. “ _Class_. I have to get back.”

“Leaving so soon, kitty?” She was disappointed, but finally remembered that she hadn’t gone out to lunch alone. Alya. Nino. Adrien… They were waiting. Probably wondering why they couldn’t get a hold of her. She had no idea where her phone and other personal effects went when she transformed, but she was pretty sure there wasn’t any cell service there. She wondered briefly whether or not it would be possible to route her civilian phone calls through her yo-yo, but as Alya preferred to facetime that could raise all sorts of awkward questions. She stuck a pin in the thought for future consideration.

“Trust me, I hate to leave you like this, but I’ll be missed if I don’t get back now.”

“What could possibly be more important than _me_?” she fake-pouted, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

He grinned. “Nothing on the entire _planet_ , my Lady, but unfortunately I happen to have friends. Friends who will miss me if I don’t get back, like, ten minutes ago.”

She sighed. “Yeah, me too. I probably shouldn’t have stayed here this long, anyway.”

“Not that _I’m_ complaining.” He kissed her one last time. Her grip on his arms tightened as he nearly lifted her clean off the ground. “Now I _really_ have to go.”

“See you later?” she called after him as he pulled away with great reluctance and prepared to jump off the side of the building.

He smirked at her over his shoulder. “Don’t you always?” he asked rhetorically with a wink, and was gone.

She sagged momentarily against a nearby chimney. If someone had told her even a week ago that she would be standing on a roof with Chat Noir, reassuring him of his hotness in between makeout sessions, she would probably have called them crazy. As it was, she was shocked with herself at how _natural_ the exchange felt. How there was no bit of hesitation in her, stopping her from saying any of the things she’d already said, or wanted to say.

The belated anxiety attack would probably hit her later, but for once she wasn’t anticipating it. This felt… _right_ , somehow. They could probably sit like that for hours, being all coupley and disgustingly cute, like they’d been dating for years — instead of their current relationship being technically less than a day old.

Dating. Relationship. _Couple._ Hmm.

It was certainly a strange idea. Not one she was entirely opposed to, of course, but… well, what even _were_ they at this point? Partners, obviously. Friends? Of course. Boyfriend and girlfriend…?

She shook herself back to reality and swung out. They’d literally _just_ kissed for the first time. Explicitly confessed their feelings for each other barely more than twelve hours ago. _That_ conversation could wait for now.

But _man_ , he was a good kisser. Not that she’d had a ton of experience, but _wow_. Maybe it was different if you actually _liked_ the person, but if he hadn’t been even half as much of a womanizer as he’d implied in the early years of their partnership she’d eat her hat. She wasn’t entirely sure she even _owned_ a proper hat, but she’d go out and buy one for the occasion.

She’d been on dates before. Mostly at Alya’s insistence when the Adrien Situation had her despairing, like that dark period when they were sixteen and he was seen in an _awful_ lot of gossip magazines with the same glamourous brunette over a period of two months — give or take one week, six days and three hours, from the first to last online appearances, not that she’d been counting — but none of the boys she’d gone out with had made her feel anything but awkward. She’d kissed them all, but less because she wanted to and more because they all looked at her so expectantly towards the end of the night.

She’d never been on a second date.

It had seemed pointless at the time; they were perfectly nice boys — she wouldn’t have gone out with them in the first place if they weren’t — but she and Adrien were _meant_ to be together, so why bother? She felt nothing for them, not romantically, anyway. She’d wished them all the best, it’s not you it’s me, and so on and so forth, but she wasn’t particularly _sad_ about any of it. Adrien was the prince who would sweep her off her feet, so what was the point of dating anyone else?

Except he wasn’t, and he didn’t, and somehow it all turned out okay anyway. She could never have imagined kissing Chat would be everything she’d always expected kissing Adrien to be, but this felt… _right_. Better, even. Because he knew her — most of her, at least — and he liked her anyway.

And she really, _really_ liked him too.

Maybe that was what was missing.

She landed in an abandoned alley a block from the café, detransformed before she even hit the ground. “I hope they didn’t miss me too much, Tikki,” she murmured as she stuck her head out from behind a dumpster. “How am I going to explain—”

“Marinette?”

She squawked loudly as she spun around, heart racing as Nino approached her from the other end of the alley. “Oh my _God_ , Nino,” she stuttered, clutching her chest. “Y-you scared the _crap_ out of me.”

“Sorry,” he said, squinting at her. “Who were you talking to? And where have you _been_? Alya’s been going nuts, we only just found Adrien a few minutes ago.”

“Nothing! Nowhere!” she squeaked hurriedly. His eyes narrowed. “I — uh, my mom! Just got off the phone with my mom.”

He looked suspicious, but thank God Nino was the way he was — he dropped it. “Okay,” he said. “If you say so.”

“Yeah,” she tittered nervously. _God_ , that was close. If she’d stayed on the roof even thirty seconds longer…

“Hey, uh, this might be kind of weird but, since we’re alone…” He looked suddenly awkward, rubbing the back of his neck and breaking eye contact in a way that made her thoughts wander of their own accord back to a certain leather-clad boy she’d only just left… She struggled to keep a straight face. “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh… Sure, I guess.”

“A-and you don’t have to answer or anything, if you don’t want to,” he assured her. “But I was just wondering… Do — do you still like Adrien?”

The question took her slightly by surprise. Then she remembered pre-Akuma attack. _‘When did you two hook up?’_ Alya’s disembodied voice demanded. She flushed.

“I — n-no.” She cleared her throat. “No,” she reiterated, steadier this time. “No, I think I’m… I’m finally over him.” She didn’t know how she expected him to react, but a slightly disappointed furrowing of his brow was certainly not it. “Um… Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh, no reason.” He shrugged lopsidedly, and she got the distinct impression he was hiding something.

She edged closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Nino?” she prompted.

“It’s nothing,” he said, then sighed. “Okay. It’s just… yesterday you could barely hold a conversation, and today you… well.”

“Well, what?” It was her turn to scrunch her eyebrows in confusion.

He blinked at her. “You were practically joined at the hip. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great, but — well, it was a bit _sudden_ , is all. You guys were acting like you were dating, and…”

“We were?” She paused for a moment, wracking her brain. She’d been so… _happy_ , distracted, over the moon about Chat goddamn Noir that everything around her seemed insignificant in comparison —slightly embarrassing in retrospect, but she hadn’t been able to find it in herself to care. Seeing Chat had calmed her slightly, but the fact remained that she hadn’t _cared_ about Adrien all day. Had barely given him a second thought. He was just _there._ There was something so _natural_ about chatting with the blond boy beside her like nothing had happened, the two of them working around each other in tandem, finishing each other’s sentences and passing condiments before the other asked, like — like…

A tiny burst of pain erupted in the space just behind her eyes and she hissed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Marinette!” exclaimed Nino worriedly, hands immediately hovering to catch her as she wobbled slightly. “Are you okay?”

As quickly as it had arrived the pain was gone, leaving Marinette slightly dazed in its wake. “I… Yeah, I’m okay.” _‘I think.’_ “I-I just had a bit of a headache, that’s all. It’s gone now.”

“Are you sure?”

She waved him away, shooting him a reassuring smile. Something was missing. “I’m fine, Nino. Promise.”

He grunted in a way that suggested disapproval, but didn’t press the issue. “Anyway… I guess I just wanted to apologize for Alya earlier. I’m sure she’ll talk to you later but…”

Shit, Alya. In the moment the question had been blurted, the most emotion Marinette had been able to muster was confusion. It was such a sudden change from a calm discussion on potential dessert options that it nearly gave her whiplash. Adrien had certainly not been expecting it; the poor boy had nearly sprayed Nino in the face as he choked on his drink. She’d almost have been offended, had she not been so utterly blindsided by it herself. The café itself had been a low blow, but Alya seemed genuinely distressed at the time, when Marinette pointed out where they were. In hindsight the whole thing could have been planned, but why? Alya wouldn’t do that to her.

“It’s fine,” she said, but suddenly she wasn’t quite sure.

“It’s just… she was so convinced you were dating behind her back, and, well, you know Alya,” he continued apologetically. “I know you and I haven’t exactly talked much about this stuff, but… well, I just wanted to let you know — you know you can talk to me, anytime, right?”

She felt a surge of affection for him. “Of course, Nino,” she said warmly. She hugged him. “Thank you,” she said, slightly muffled against his shoulder.

“Oh my God, _there_ you are!” said Alya’s voice, and they both jumped at the sound. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Got turned around,” said Marinette, trying to suppress the nervous edge creeping into her voice as Alya barreled toward her, Adrien trailing a few steps behind.

“ _Turned around_?” repeated Alya. “In _Paris_? The city you’ve lived in your _entire life_?”

“Well, with all the panicked crowds and all, it’s kind of easy to get swept along.” Marinette swallowed. Adrien was looking at her strangely — she tried to ignore him, but he hovered in the corner of her eye, an unidentifiable expression on his face. “You know me,” she continued airily, “I’d lose my own head if it wasn’t attatched to my neck.”

Alya narrowed her eyes. “I’ve been trying to call you for, like, half an hour!”

“My phone wasn’t getting any service,” she lied. “I only just got a hold of my mom right before Nino found me.”

“And _you_ ,” said Alya, turning on him.

“Don’t ‘you’ me,” said Nino. “We were on our way back when you started yelling.”

“I’m not _yelling_.”

“You are, though. Calm down, will you?”

Adrien cleared his throat over the bickering. “We should probably get back to school,” he offered, and Alya glared at him. “What?”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Come on, let’s go.” She stalked off.

Marinette stared after her. “What’s up with her?”

Nino sighed. “Where to start? What with you two at lunch…” Adrien and Marinette carefully avoided eye contact. “…And Ladybug and Chat Noir, and then she couldn’t find you after the Akuma attack… She went a little off the deep end.”

“Wait,” said Adrien. “What about Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

Nino shrugged. “They were a little buddy-buddy after the Akuma attack, that’s all. Well, more than usual. Ladybug was winking, Chat Noir was blushing… It wasn’t that big of a deal, I guess, but it seemed like it at the time — she’s completely convinced ‘Ladynoir’ is real. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it.”

Marinette hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until her chest started burning. It had been completely spur of the moment, that stupid wink, and one she didn’t think twice about once she was rewarded with that slight reddening of her partner’s cheeks as his grip around her waist tightened. It never even occurred to her that anyone would even notice. Of _course_ Alya would — she’d shipped them from the beginning. She and Nino had been standing less than two meters away from them, right in the front of the crowd, with a fucking _camera phone_ _in Ladybug’s face_. She was so busy kicking herself mentally that she barely even registered Adrien’s sudden silence, an odd expression on his face.

“I-I’ll go talk to her,” she mumbled, pulling herself back to reality and running after Alya. _‘Just another thing to talk to Chat about,’_ she thought drily. Of _course_ PDA should have been the _first_ thing they should have considered. _Especially_ her. So much for her strict privacy rules.

Alya was a fast walker. Marinette had to call after her three times before she even slowed down. “Hey, c’mon, this isn’t a race,” Marinette said, finally catching her sleeve. “What happened to ‘let’s go’? Emphasis on ‘let’s’.”

Alya sighed. “Sorry.”

“What’s up with you?” They slowed to a leisurely stroll.

“I was just worried about you,” she said. “You and Adrien. The Akuma was gone so fast, and I kept trying to call you but you didn’t pick up. Here’s your purse, by the way.” She hefted the bag off her shoulder and Marinette accepted it meekly.

“I’m sorry, Alya.” That was always one of the hardest parts about being the one to take out the Akumas — not being able to reassure her friends and family she was okay until long after the danger had passed. Marinette wondered briefly about Chat, whether he had to endure this sort of interrogation when he turned up after attacks. Was he better at excuses than she was? She made a mental note to ask him, and if he was, to get some tips.

Alya glanced sideways at her. “Where do you even _go_?”

Marinette blinked. “What?”

“When there are attacks,” said Alya impatiently. “You never stick around. I’d feel way better if you didn’t run off all the time.”

Marinette laughed nervously. “My parents always tell me to run to where it’s safe.”

“But you’re safe with _us_ ,” insisted Alya. “Running off to God knows where couldn’t possibly be any better than sticking with a group of people who you _know_ will look out for you.”

“Well, we can’t all run after Akumas with a camera,” Marinette deflected.

“But Nino doesn’t,” Alya pointed out. “Not unless I make him. I swear, keeping track of you and Adrien during attacks is worse than herding _cats_.”

“What do you mean, me and Adrien?”

Alya stared at her. “Are you _serious_?” she said. “He’s almost worse than you. The second the screaming starts, he’s out the door. I mean, I get it, if his bodyguard isn’t around, I guess, but seriously.”

Marinette considered this. Sure, she’d noticed it today — they’d literally spoken in unison. It seemed to surprise him as much as it had her. But in general she’d always assumed he stayed with Nino. Of course, now that she thought about it, he _did_ seem to get rather jumpy around attacks. Not in a nervous way, more… excitedly. On the few occasions she hadn’t been able to transform immediately, she’d noticed him slip out of the classroom in collège, or they got separated somehow, or he vanished without explanation only to turn up afterwards with some hastily babbled excuse. And there _was_ that terrible ‘ _knight_ -mare’ pun. She’d thought it was endearing at the time…

A haze washed over her, her eyes unfocusing in spite of herself, and she stumbled. Alya caught and steadied her. “Woah, are you okay?” she asked.

Something was missing. Marinette shook her head to clear it. “Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Alya sounded worried now. “You look a little pale.”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” Marinette straightened, blinking slowly. “It’s probably just that headache I had earlier.”

“Wait, what headache?” Alya took her face in her hands and examined her carefully.

“What’s going on?” Nino and Adrien had caught up with them.

“Marinette’s sick,” declared Alya.

“It’s just a headache, Alya,” insisted Marinette.

“It’s back?” asked Nino concernedly.

“Oh, not you too.”

“She had a headache when you found her?”

“Yeah, she nearly fell over. She said it was gone.”

“She almost faceplanted just now, too!”

“I’m still here, y’know,” said Marinette irritably.

“That settles it,” said Alya firmly. “You? Bed. Now. Immediately.”

“Alya, I’m _fine_.”

“No _buts_ , young lady. No more school for you. Homewards you go.”

“You’re not my real mom, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“Do I need to walk you there?” threatened Alya.

“Alya, honestly—”

“Don’t talk back to your mother,” said Nino mildly.

Marinette threw her hands up in disgust. “Oh my God, _fine._ ”

“I’ll bring you your homework later,” said Alya sweetly. Marinette lovingly threw up a middle finger in her direction as she walked past. “Love you too, girlie,” was Alya’s only reply.

“Feel better soon, Marinette,” said Adrien after her.

She glanced back over her shoulder at him as she crossed the street and nearly stopped dead in her tracks. The clouds had broken and weak pre-spring sunlight shone through, settling around him in a golden glow. His expression was one of gentle concern, and something else she couldn’t identify. He was always gorgeous — of course he fucking was. But the way the light fell across his hair, cutting across his face at an angle that accentuated his cheekbones and cast his eyes in shadow… She wasn’t so far away that she couldn’t see them.

They were almost glowing…

Her mind hazed over again. Something was missing… She fought to keep control and nearly walked into a wall as she quickly turned her head around. She made a show of leaning against the corner like she _meant_ to walk towards it, taking her time as she fiddled with her shoelace, waiting for the dizziness to pass, but when she glanced back out of the corner of her eye her friends were gone. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Too much to drink at lunch?” quipped a voice above her.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. “Ch-Chat Noir,” she stammered as he slid smoothly to ground level and leaned casually against the wall in front of her. “H-hey… you…”

“Hey yourself.” There was a split second in which he paused, pursing his lips as he appraised her. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“I — I was on my way home.” She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Clearly, talking to him out of the suit wasn’t going to be _nearly_ as easy as it was transformed. “What, uh, what are _you_ doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” he said shrugging. “And then I saw a damsel in distress and thought, hey, maybe I could lend a hand.”

“I’m a damsel in distress?” She resisted the urge to snort. Okay, so she wasn’t _completely_ gone.

“Aren’t you?” The top of his mask shifted as he raised an eyebrow at her. “You could barely walk in a straight line.” He grinned. “Hit the wine a little hard, did you?” he asked in a stage whisper.

“I’ll have you know I don’t drink,” she said primly. His grin only widened. “And I can _too_ walk in a straight line,” she added, feeling her insides melt a little. “I was fixing my shoelace, if you must know.”

He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Relax, Marinette, I was just kidding.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted again. “I had a headache and my friends insisted I go home. That’s all.”

“And you were going to walk the whole way? Alone?”

“It’s not _that_ far.”

“It’s a little far.”

“I can walk just fine, Chat.”

“I would beg to differ. You forget, cats have excellent eyesight. And I happen to know for a fact you didn’t nearly walk into a wall _just_ to tie your shoe.” He looked down pointedly at her sneakers, perfectly secured with double knots.

She sighed. “Fine, you caught me. I was distracted by a stupidly attractive boy I know and didn’t pay attention to where I was going. There, are you happy?” She felt really weird admitting something like that to _Chat_ , regardless of how much sarcasm she injected into the statement. This was the guy she’d literally been making out with less than an hour ago, for crying out loud — even if he didn’t know that.

It was as if a cloud passed briefly over his expression, something — what was that? Hurt? Guilt? — flitting across his face for a split second, so fast she could have imagined it, but as suddenly it had come it was gone and his signature smirk was back. “Well, you’re in luck,” he said with a tiny bow. “Because _that_ is something I can help with.”

Her mind short-circuited for a second. “What?” she said faintly.

She watched numbly as he presented his back to her. “Hop on,” he prompted when she didn’t move.

“Are — are you fucking serious?”

He looked almost offended. “Hey, I’m faster than the bus. _And_ better looking.”

“You want me to get on your back as you _pole-vault_ _across the city_?”

“Not the whole way. And I know some shortcuts. You’d be surprised how far you can go across rooftops without having to break out the baton.” He eyed her. “You think you can hang on if I do need to use it?”

“I — well, I guess, but — wait, you know shortcuts to my _house_?”

“Not specifically. But I know the area. Y-you don’t have to,” he added her hurriedly, seeing her expression. “I just want to help. If you don’t mind me saying, you look like you could use it.” She nibbled her lip, and he ducked his head to meet her eyes. “At least let me walk you.” The corners of his mouth quirked up. “C’mon, Princess, what d’you say?”

His eyes melted her resolve. “Alright, fine,” she grumbled. “Get down, you’re too freaking tall.”

He brightened immediately and bent over so she could clamber on his back. “Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. “I do this with Ladybug all the time.”

And she did it to him as well. That wasn’t the problem. “The difference between me and Ladybug,” she said, “is that one of us has a magical yo-yo to keep from dying when you drop me on my ass off the Eiffel Tower.”

He didn’t seem to notice the slip of her tongue as he chuckled. “Who’s going to the Eiffel Tower? The most I can drop you is, like, _maybe_ four stories.” He patted her leg when she stiffened. “Kidding, Princess,” he soothed.

“Yeah, you better be.” She’d locked her legs around him like she always did, arms angled just _so_ to not cut off his windpipe, but his suit was a lot slicker against cotton and jeans. Her purse was secured with a strap across her body and with the zippers there was no way she could lose something important along the way, but her jacket was far too bulky for her liking. There were few times she would have preferred to be wearing _less_ clothing publicly in her civilian life. This happened to be one of them, although putting it like _that_ in _this_ situation could put a rather lewd spin on things, if one was so inclined.

“Ready?” he asked, extending his baton to get them onto the roof. She grumbled something vaguely affirmative in his ear. “Okay. Hold on.” And they were off.

It wasn’t nearly as terrifying as she feared. Sure, being so high up without her own magical safety net was unsettling, but it wasn’t like she was up here for the first time. And the sense of danger was exhilarating. Once the initial nerves had passed she even found she was enjoying herself. She couldn’t feel him beneath her as well as she usually could, but he still radiated warmth and she could hear his breath in short bursts, faintly feel his muscles pumping as he ran.

They didn’t talk — what would they even say? — but she didn’t mind. It was a simple moment of intimacy, even though she was the only one able to fully appreciating in the moment. She sighed softly into his hair. If he noticed she couldn’t tell.

It was over far too soon. Suddenly she could see her parents’ bakery and her heart sank a little in spite of herself. _‘I’m going to see him tonight,’_ she reminded herself fiercely. _‘You can last a few more hours.’_ Still, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed as he slowed.

“Here’s your stop,” he said. “Should I drop you on your balcony?” He sounded barely winded. She glanced down and saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Stupid, kind, good-looking _jerk_.

“Better not,” she said carefully. “Unless _you_ wanna explain to my parents how I magically appeared in my bedroom in the middle of the day.”

“This may shock you, Marinette,” he said in a grave tone, “but I just so happen to have magic powers.” He tilted his head just enough so she could catch his grin and she had to bite her lip to stifle her laughter. “Is a block away okay?”

She nodded and he dropped down suddenly, and she could barely contain her shriek of surprise as they fell for a split second before his baton extended to break their fall. He spun them lazily to the ground in a secluded alleyway. “ _Never_ do that again,” she admonished, pulse throbbing.

He laughed. “Sorry. Are you alright?”

“You mean apart from the heart attack?” She slid gingerly off his back, surreptitiously checking her limbs for damage. Everything was present and accounted for. Even her purse was intact. She checked her phone. Could it really have been less than ten minutes since he first approached her? Impressive.

“Apart from that, yeah.”

“I’m… fine, I think.” She met his eyes and couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Chat. This was… This was really sweet of you. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged. “It’s what I do,” he said off-handedly. “What sort of superhero doesn’t help people?”

“Still. That was… incredible. _And_ you saved me half an hour of walking.”

“I live to serve,” he grinned. “And on that note, I have places to be, unfortunately.” He gave a little bow, and brushed the barest imitation of a kiss over her knuckles. “Until we meet again, Princess.” And with that, he disappeared up and over the rooftops and was gone.

Marinette stood there for a moment, the back of her hand _burning_ , what she was sure was the stupidest grin inching its way across her face. Kissing him as Ladybug was one thing, but _this_ was something else. He didn’t treat her like a civilian; he treated her like a _person_. He remembered her _name._ He trekked her halfway across the city just because he saw her wobble. The details surrounding how he found her were hazy at best — did they leave each other on that roof only to end up in the same stretch of cafés anyway? Didn’t he have somewhere to be? Why was he transformed in the first place? — but they seemed as unimportant as whatever it was she’d been thinking about when he found her. Something about Adrien, and then there _he_ was and nothing else mattered.

 _‘Until we meet again, Princess,’_ his voice echoed in her head. She sighed among the dumpsters.

“Oh, Tikki, isn’t he just so… _so_ …” she began and trailed off.

There was a soft _zip_ noise and Tikki poked her head out of a tiny opening in her purse. “He’s _very_ ‘so,’” she agreed in an amused tone.

“And the way he — y’know? He just… He _carried me home_ , Tikki.” She stared vaguely up, at the spot over which he’d disappeared. “He’s really…”

“Uh-huh, he’s very ‘really,’” agreed Tikki sagely. “But shouldn’t you be getting home?”

“What?” Marinette blinked dazedly. “Oh. Oh, right. Home.”

She wandered out to the main road and apologized to her parents, promising them Alya was bringing lots of homework later before heading up to her room. She clutched absently at the hand Chat Noir had kissed the whole way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I couldn't imagine how I could _possibly_ continue more than a couple chapters before I lost interest and this fic died? Remember when I thought 3,000 words was A Lot and A Struggle To Write? ~~Remember when I said I was going to stockpile chapters before my next update?~~ Yeah, me neither. Here's to CHAPTER MOTHERFUCKING 30 Y'ALL
> 
> Tumblaaaarrrghh [here](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/)


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alya discovers Many Interesting Things, and I realize I have no idea how the French school system actually works and also I don't care.

If there was one thing Alya cared about, it was the truth.

She cared about a lot of things, in general. People, too. But if she had to pick one thing, one singular concept she revered to the depths of her soul, it was _understanding_ , and the truth that came with it.

When she turned seven years old, her parents had tried to arrange a surprise party for her birthday. It was nothing fancy — a few kids in her neighborhood were invited, along with grandparents, some cousins, and so on — and for any other child, perhaps, the surprise would have been a pleasant one. They had been quite careful; always coordinating on the phone in the other room while Alya was seemingly otherwise occupied, hiding any decorations they bought high up at the backs of shelves she was too small to reach, confining the planning as best they could until after bedtime. A cake had been made, candles placed, presents wrapped, guests RSVP’ed. So it came as a great shock to Mrs Césaire when Alya toddled up to her and asked, very matter-of-factly, “When does my party start on Saturday?”

It had never occurred to her until then that maybe she didn’t _need_ to know everything immediately, but the fact that her parents were purposefully keeping something away from her had _irked_ her. It hadn’t been very hard to piece together what was going on — a sneak peek into closets, eavesdropped snippets of conversations, a smudge of chocolate buttercream on a shirtsleeve. Put those bits together with the date of her birthday and it was, forgive the pun, child’s play.

She had long since figured out what most children did fairly early on in childhood; kids were easy to overlook. Instead of being annoyed by this, she used it to her advantage. She could sneak out of her room at night and hover silently on the stairs, listening to the adult conversations that arose after her bedtime without anyone the wiser; not out of malice or disobedience, but simple curiosity. What did the grown-ups have to say that they wouldn’t say around _her_? She’d always had a knack for picking up on things others didn’t pay enough attention to notice; this was simply the first time she ever consciously put any effort into it. And it payed off — the party was indeed to take place the following Saturday, at two in the afternoon, and despite the Césaires’ best efforts, it would no longer be a surprise.

It was the first time she’d ever felt the bittersweet mix of pride and shame, as the sense of accomplishment at her discovery dimmed slightly at the crestfallen look on her mother’s face. She’d tried to play it off as best she could, and the party went ahead mostly as planned, but Alya never forgot that expression, or the feeling it invoked. Even as she perfected her techniques — understanding the difference between curiosity and nosiness; learning the subtle but tell-tale signs of deception; understanding the nuances that separated benevolent secrets and outright lies — she promised herself once and for all that she would never, _ever_ turn them on her family like that again, blood-related or otherwise.

She had, until now, mostly kept that promise.

The problem, she discovered as she grew older, was that the better she knew someone, the easier it was to pick up on their lies. The easier they were to manipulate to give her answers. Her deep-seated sense of loyalty generally overrode the urge to _use_ this, but sometimes it frustrated her. When she was little, she couldn’t understand why people — her parents, for instance — would hide things from her, especially things they were going to tell her anyway. Wouldn’t it just save everyone a lot of trouble just to say it outright, instead of dancing around the subject for days on end? She learned as she grew, and she understood it _now_ , but there was still that tiny voice in the very depths of her mind that couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”

It was hypocritical, of course; she hid things from people all the time. There was value in playing one’s cards close to the chest. It occurred to her several times over the years, this hypocrisy, during periods of gentle self-reflection in which she wondered why she felt entitled to everyone’s dirty laundry when she kept her own carefully hidden. It was a character trait she tried to suppress, those times she felt that urge to interrogate rising, and mostly she was successful. Being a good friend meant more than simply gaining a new point of access for classroom gossip, after all. Sometimes it was pushed down so far it hardly surfaced at all.

Until today, apparently.

She could blame the Ladyblog for the increasingly nosy part of her personality she’d tried so hard to outgrow, if she wanted to point fingers. Ever since she discovered at the tender age of nine that investigative journalism was a _thing_ , like an _actual job_ in which she could be _paid_ to delve into society’s darkest secrets, she’d honed in on that and never looked back — the Ladyblog was her first _real_ project. Her most successful one, anyway. Maybe her ridiculously large readership was getting to her head. _‘Or maybe,’_ a tiny voice in the back of her mind supplied treacherously, _‘this is who you were all along.’_ She gently, but firmly, shoved the thought right back where it came from.

School was a nightmare after lunch, even setting aside the second telling-off she got from Nino as they trekked back to school alone after Adrien vanished — again. She got back to class with minutes to spare, and spent the remaining few hours itching to get back out again. She debated, very briefly, claiming a stomach bug and escaping, but made the mistake of mentioning the idea to Nino over text in the middle of class, who firmly squashed it. “If you’re gone too, who’s going to take Mari’s homework back to her?” he pointed out, although using slightly less conventionally accepted grammar and/or spelling, and she grudgingly agreed. There would be plenty of time to ruminate on the situation during math class, anyway.

Alya was very good at reading people, always had been. People in general were very set in their mannerisms, and she’d learned very early on that any deviation from those norms usually meant that someone was hiding something.

Adrien and Marinette, she decided, were definitely hiding _something_.

She was furious with herself, of course, for breaking her promise today. No, not “breaking.” “Shattering beyond recognition” was a far more accurate description. Nino was right to chew her out. She’d probably have chewed _herself_ out if she’d been in his shoes, and been way less nice about it, too. Bringing Marinette — and Adrien, of course, but _especially_ Marinette — back to the café without warning, and then _lying about it to her face_ was probably the worst thing she’d ever done. Sure, it had given her rather juicy results, but at what cost? Marinette was pretty forgiving, as far as best friends went, but really, that didn’t matter in the slightest. Alya had manage to absolutely destroy every single personal code of ethics she’d ever had in one afternoon, and what made matters worse was she hadn’t hesitated for a second before doing just that.

It’s been said it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, but what kind of friend was she if she simply manipulated the girl who was practically her _sister_ for her own satisfaction?

A shitty one, that’s what.

But Marinette had been acting so _oddly_ that morning, so over-the-top bubbly and ditzy, and when the boys arrived it had only gotten worse. That wasn’t even diving into Mr Adrien Agreste himself, who looked like someone had hit him over the head several times before dropping him off at school. And when they were together… that vibe between them was so radically, fundamentally changed overnight that she couldn’t help but be suspicious. The way they talked over lunch, the way they interacted when she glanced back at the table while Nino gave her an earful… It was as if they’d been dating for years. Like there were two completely different people, subconscious halves of a whole.

Like…

The thought fought to manifest itself briefly before fading abruptly, leaving a metaphorical hole in her mind as she blinked dazedly in its wake. She was forgetting something, something _important_. The feeling was familiar, annoyingly so, but she couldn’t place it. The teacher droned on in the background as she racked her brains trying to reclaim the thought — whatever it was — but it was gone.

What had she been thinking about before this? She tried to mentally retrace her steps. Adrien and Marinette, that was it. They were acting strangely. Weirdly in sync, so comfortable in a way they seemed oblivious to, apparently unaware of what it looked like on the outside. And it was so _familiar_ …

A strange fog swept gently across her mind again and she could practically _feel_ her eyes glazing over. _‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’_ she agonized, letting her head drop to her hands in the most surreptitious way possible.

Marinette was impossible lately. After the Akuma attack, Alya nearly went out of her mind with worry. With all the car-tossing and general chaos, not being able to find her best friend in the aftermath was one of the worst tortures she could imagine. One would think she’d be used to it by now — Marinette had been pulling the same disappearing act for nearly four years straight — but the drop in her stomach barely seemed to lessen with each passing attack. In fact, it seemed to be getting _worse._ Perhaps it was a side-effect of growing up; in collége they’d been so _young_ , so irresponsible, so ignorant of the dangers and adult fears that should and often did come as a result of such a massive, terrifying event.

Back then, when it all first started, most of the monsters even seemed _cool_ , to a certain extent. The concept of real-life supervillains was such a fantasy come to life for Alya, it really hadn’t been too hard to jump straight into the fray with her camera phone and notebook on hand. She was so used to it by now, it was practically second nature. But Marinette was _different_. She wasn’t some intrepid would-be reporter, braving the danger for the sake of getting knowledge to the people. She was a clumsy, naïve baker’s daughter who vanished at the first signs of screaming. Of _course_ there was a part of her that knew Marinette wasn’t helpless — those muscles of hers were an excellent indicator, if nothing else — but the _not knowing_ , now, _that_ was the hard part.

As kids, they didn’t have the same rational thinking that considered the consequences of running off alone during an Akuma attack. Alya knew deep down that what she did was stupid, that diving headfirst into harm’s way on purpose hardly put her in any position to judge Marinette’s actions, but _still_. Even if there had never been any serious injury or death by Akuma recorded — as far as they knew, at least — that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. And Alya had always had a strong maternal streak in her. She _worried_.

At first, a part of Alya had assumed Adrien and Marinette had run off together and that’s why they were so hard to find — no matter _what_ Nino said, there was _something_ going on; what did it matter that they’d both gone in different directions when the general panic started? — but then they found Adrien, alone. Alya called Marinette several times, and when the calls didn’t go through she made Nino call, then Adrien. She coordinated a search, each of them spreading out their separate ways. She was almost surprised to happen upon her and Nino in that alley, Marinette waving her off with the same airy excuses as always.

And that made her _angry_.

It really shouldn’t have, but _honestly_ , “no service”? Please. They had the same provider and if all three of them had been able to call then why couldn’t they get through to _her_ , specifically? And it wasn’t the first time, either. The least she could have done was come up with a more plausible excuse, like a dead battery. At the same time, she felt bad for doubting her. Why would Marinette lie about something like that? And she was clearly fine. She always was.

There was still that tiny “What if she’s not, next time?” chiming in the back of her mind. She shoved it down.

She always had the worst excuses though. Akuma attack at school? “Oops, forgot my history homework.” Attack downtown? “Promised I’d help during the lunch rush at the bakery.” Attack at the zoo? “Bathroom break.” As if running from a super-powered monster wouldn’t be excuse enough. What kind of oblivious moron decided that an _Akuma attack_ was a good time to double-check their _homework_? Marinette was _not_ an oblivious moron. She might have her head a bit too much in the clouds at times, but she wasn’t _stupid_.

Of course, it could just be a nervous reaction. Lord knew Marinette did not do well under unexpected pressure, and over the years of running the Ladyblog and interviewing all sorts of people after attacks Alya had first-hand experience with all the absolutely _ridiculous_ things people could say while coming off an adrenaline high. She certainly acted jumpy enough. A plausible explanation? Alya filed the thought away for further consideration, maybe when her brain wasn’t so foggy.

Perhaps it was all the recent frustration in her life that made Marinette’s vanishing so hard to stomach this time. Frustration that stemmed from the Lunchtime Disaster, from the intriguing new Ladynoir evidence she hadn’t even had the time to properly analyze, from her still-fruitless Chat Noir investigation…

Alya shot back up to attention in her seat so suddenly that her seatmate, Alix, was jostled from her doze. “Hey, what’s the big idea?” Alix hissed, trying surreptitiously to wipe the thin trail of drool from her chin.

“Sorry, leg cramp,” Alya apologized automatically under her breath, but she wasn’t really paying attention. She knew why her head felt weird. She _remembered._

She had, over the past few months, picked up and set aside the Chat Noir investigation multiple times out of pure, unadulterated _loathing_. She was _so close_ to something big, she could almost _taste_ it, but at the same time all her research and theorizing kept spiraling round and round in such maddening circles that she’d had to take several steps back just to keep herself from tearing out her hair. The closer she seemed to get to another piece of the puzzle, the larger the chunk in her short-term memory was, the more painful the headaches, the more pencils she’d snapped while fighting to _hold on to it_. She rarely even remembered what _it_ was, except in the vaguest of details.

_That’s_ what was happening to her — it was that stupid Miraculous magic.

But _why_?

She retraced her mental steps again, slower this time, going over this afternoon’s “Adrienette” moments in her head. The easy conversation; the wordless communication that they didn’t even seem to notice themselves; that matching inner glow… It was so familiar, but _why_?

Unbidden, from the darkest recesses of her mind, the image of Ladybug and Chat Noir from earlier that day replayed in her mind — the battle, moving in tandem, wordless communication; airy pleasantries before speeding away; Chat Noir’s blush. Come to think of it, Adrien had been blushing an awful lot around Marinette lately…

She could _feel_ it slipping away this time and tried desperately to hang on to it, but the mental image slid through her figurative grasp just as easily as the last. She clenched her jaw in frustration, eyes screwed shut, ignoring the mild pounding at the base of her skull. “ _Not again_ ,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

She scribbled furiously in her notebook, until now unsullied by class notes, filling the page with haphazard scrawls of anything and everything she could jot down as the brain fog grew stronger. She was starting to feel nauseous, like she was carsick — she should probably stop…

The world went dark for the briefest of moments, and when she finally blinked she realized that somehow she’d dropped her pencil on the floor. She pushed up her glasses, which had slipped down her nose, and Alix side-eyed her as she bent under the desk.

“You okay, dude?” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine,” Alya muttered back distractedly, turning back to inspect her notes. Well, _that_ had never happened before.

The notes were… well, _illegible_ was a bit too lax a term. There were phrases and words here and there that were okay, but a lot of the spaces in between were nearly indecipherable. She eyed the paper with interest. It seemed as though that same magic that scrambled audio and turned even the most professional photo editing software into a sloppy mess extended to her _own hand_. There were a lot of very disturbing implications to draw from this, but she stuck a metaphorical pin in them for later. Now, however, it was time to experiment.

She carefully turned over a new page in her notebook, sliding it casually to an angle that Alix couldn’t see, just in case she decided to jerk out of her nap again. Slowly, in neat capital letters, she printed “CHAT NOIR” on the top line and waited.

Nothing.

On the other end of the line, she wrote “ADRIEN AGRESTE” in the same careful handwriting. Again, nothing.

Between the two names, she drew a long, thin arrow, connecting them.

A slight twinge in the space behind her eyes, but mainly nothing.

She smiled. Progress.

Under this, she made two columns: a “LADYNOIR” and an “ADRIENETTE” column. In each column, she wrote down similarities between the two pairs, drawing crisscrossing lines connecting the bits that matched up. So far, no trace of a headache. A hesitant glimmer of optimism fluttered in her chest as she leaned back slightly to get an overview of her handiwork.

It was, to put it kindly, utterly nonsensical.

If she squinted, she could make out phrases she vaguely remembered writing, but the second she leaned back the paper may very well have been written in hieroglyphics. A slight pounding at the base of her skull thudded harder with each passing second as she tried to read the paper.

She jerked back into focus as a sharp elbow caught her in the ribs. “Dude, what’s going on with you?” said Alix. Alya blinked. She’d been so focused on her experiment she hadn’t realized the teacher had passed out worksheets and their classmates were chattering in low voices amongst themselves. “You look kinda sick. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” said Alya distractedly, peering back down at her notes.

“Are you sure? You don’t _look_ fine. Pretty pale, actually.” Alix cocked her head. “What’s that?”

Alya realized belatedly that Alix was leaning over, squinting at the notebook, and scrambled to cover it. “Nothing,” she said, in what was possibly the most unconvincing tone she’d ever heard come out of her own mouth.

“Adrien? ‘Ladynoir’? Now, what could that be about?” Alix — sporty, tiny, speedy little Alix — snatched the notebook before Alya could react, a playful smirk on her face. “What are you scribbling about Adrien Agreste for—?”

She trailed off abruptly as she tried to read the paper, smile sliding away quicker than it had appeared. Alya watched in horrified fascination as Alix’s face went blank, eyes glazing over, grip slackening. She snatched the notebook out of Alix’s hands and stuffed it hurriedly into her bag.

Alix jerked back to reality, blinking sluggishly. “Wha—?” She looked around, disoriented. “Alya? I-I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“No,” said Alya. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

The color had indeed drained slightly from her face and she rubbed her temples. “I — I think so? Yeah, I’m fine, I just… I just feel a little sick, is all.”

“Do you need to go to the nurse?” asked Alya, concern now overriding fascination as Alix’s complexion went slightly green.

“No, I—” Alix began, and then swallowed. “Uh, maybe. Yeah.”

Alya raised her hand. “Miss? Alix isn’t feeling very well. Can she go to the nurse’s office?”

The teacher glanced over the rims of her glasses. “Is she unable to ask herself?” she said drily.

“Please, miss, I…” Alix winced, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can Alya come with me? I-I think I need help to walk.”

There was a short pause as the teacher looked them both up and down very critically, but after a moment she waved them off and they gathered their bags, the rest of the class watching in silence as Alix leaned on Alya as they hobbled for the door.

The hallway was empty and once they’d rounded the first corner Alix slowed. “Are you okay?” asked Alya worriedly. “Do you need to sit down?”

Alix straightened, stretching a little. “No, I… feel fine. Great, actually.” She sounded almost surprised.

“Really?” said Alya doubtfully, looking her up and down.

“Really,” confirmed Alix.

Her color _was_ coming back. She wasn’t as sluggish anymore either. If anything, she seemed almost peppier than usual. “Well, if you’re sure…” Alya paused. “Should we… get back to class?” she asked, possibly out of habit, even though that was the last place she wanted to go.

Alix snorted. “ _Fuck_ no,” she said. “I have no idea what just happened back there, but if miss Stick-Up-Her-Ass back there thinks I’m out sick for the day there’s no way in _hell_ I’m going back.” Her eyes had regained their mischievous sparkle. “Of course, if _you_ wanna go back…”

Alya let out a bark of laughter.

“Thought so,” said Alix smugly. “Well, _I’m_ gonna go get some hot chocolate and spam Kim with Snapchats about it, if you wanna come join me.”

“No thanks, I promised Marinette I’d bring her homework. She went home sick too.”

“Ahh, ‘ _home sick_ ,’” said Alix conspiratorially, making over-exaggerated air quotes. “Well, you can tell her from me that faking sick to get out of school makes no fuckin’ sense if you make people bring you mountains of homework afterwards.”

Alya nodded her agreement and stood there as Alix rounded another corner and was gone. She considered the space left by her formerly incredibly-nauseous friend, and pursed her lips.

There was something to figure out here.

And something told her she’d be showing Marinette a lot more than a couple dumb homework assignments later.

Simply for _understanding’s_ sake, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combining ADD, hyperfocusing, executive dysfunction and insomnia: 0/10 do not recommend. You should also read this chapter while listening to a Britney Spears/Marilyn Manson medley. Not because it has any actual relevance to the fic, but just because that's what my brain decided was a good writing soundtrack at 4 am.
> 
> If you wanna check it out, I've posted a couple of ML fanarts on my [art blog!](http://bloodandpurpleink.tumblr.com/) Also, I'm sorry my hiatus keeps being extended/randomly interrupted. I just found out I'm moving! Which is actually a good thing, but also terrible because I have to pack for, coordinate and execute a cross-country move within like 3 weeks or so, in addition to transferring universities. ~~kill me~~ If you'd like to help make me want to die less, consider sending fanart suggestions or something? I've been itching to draw more comics (can you believe i actually went to school for that shit??) but I've been having a massive brain fart when it comes to funny LadyNoir things.
> 
> Also I want to thank every single one of you that's either commented or sent me a message on Tumblr about this fic, whether it's to tell me how much you like it or to ask about when the next update is going to be. I've been really stressed out and busier than I thought I'd be this "vacation," and honestly y'all make me want to cry (in a good way). It's the best feeling in the world to know that I'm creating something that so many people seem to enjoy?? I'm sorry I can't update as fast as I'd like lately, but I'm hoping I'll get out of this funk soon and be able to give you all the self-indulgent LadyNoir content you signed up for and deserve. ♡
> 
> Main tumblr [here](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/)


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alya shares some unwanted knowledge.

Marinette had four active sketchbooks at any given time.

The purple was for practice — life drawing, scenery she could see from her balcony, and so on. The blue was the one she brought with her out and about, and had tear-away pages in case she wanted to transfer something to the sparkly pink book, which was for her designs.

The black one was secret, and she kept it hidden away from prying eyes. It was her vent book, the one she turned to in times of stress or overthinking, in which she could doodle whatever her heart desired. Currently she was sketching Tikki, who was dozing quietly on her computer monitor. The book had been well used in recent months, although slightly less after she started going out in the night to meet Chat more often.

She’d already filled six pages that afternoon.

She wasn’t entirely sure _why_ she felt this way, with this uneasy confusion sitting like a lump of iron in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t thinking about anything in particular — hadn’t been for hours. She’d been focused on drawing, on the act of putting pencil to paper, of creating something new where there once was nothing.

It was, quite frankly, starting to bore her.

It wasn’t that she _disliked_ drawing, but her hand was beginning to cramp and the mindless repetition of the curves and lines felt meaningless. Still, she couldn’t stop. She squiggled out something resembling antennae on the two-dimensional Tikki’s head and sighed in a quiet puff of air through her nose. Usually drawing helped her think — it was why she had a vent book in the first place. Right now it felt more like she was just going through the motions out of habit.

It wasn’t as though there wasn’t enough to think about. Alya sending her home was a good place to start. Apart from the quick bouts of lightheadedness, she’d been _fine_. She knew Alya was just looking out for her, but she didn’t _listen_. It was mildly infuriating. Even though Marinette couldn’t really complain, since leaving the group allowed Chat to find her…

Her cheeks warmed and she smiled privately at the memory. He was so _sweet_ , so kind and caring to a virtual stranger that the mere thought of him offering to take her home made her stomach erupt into a million swirling butterflies. Her hand still tingled where he’d kissed it. He kissed her _hand_. Not Ladybug’s, but _Marinette’s_. He remembered her _name_ , a random civilian he’d met only briefly a few times, mostly back when she was still in collège. He’d even called her Princess, a name she’d nearly forgotten until he’d showed up on her balcony so many months ago. She’d thought it was cheesy and a little weird at first, but now it was endearing — his Lady in the mask, and his Princess without. _‘_ A _princess,’_ she corrected herself quickly. _‘Not_ his _. Not as far as he knows.’_

Still, it was a flattering thought that both of her nicknames happened to give her royal titles. It stroked her ego quite nicely.

As far as the events of the afternoon went, he really didn’t _have_ to take her home like he did — after pretending to fix her shoelace, she’d been perfectly fine — but she couldn’t help herself when he insisted. She knew he was a good person, of course; he was her partner, her best friend, her… _something_ , but seeing him go out of his way for a girl he barely knew… She couldn’t get over it. And the way he purred his goodbye, the gentle murmur of _‘Until we meet again,’_ his actual lips gracing her actual skin as his pet name for her danced on his tongue.

And then with a smirk and a wink he was gone and she was left reeling in his wake.

She was _so_ far gone, it wasn’t even funny anymore.

Of course, there was the tiniest of hitches in this fantasy of a day; he’d left her first on the rooftop that afternoon. He had somewhere to be. She did too, of course, but he’d pulled away from her so adamantly and she’d been sure she wouldn’t see him again until after dark.

So what was he doing roaming around in costume nearly an hour after the attack?

A very tentative thought arose from the back of her mind. Perhaps he was in the area. It wouldn’t surprise her — he’d turned up awfully fast when the Akuma hit. But what if that meant he’d seen her walking home? He’d commented on her stumbling, but she was _sure_ she’d have noticed him leaping about on the rooftops, even if only through the fangirl screaming alone.

What if he’d seen her while in civilian form? What if he’d _changed_ for her?

Her hand stilled its sketching motions as she pondered this. No. No, he couldn’t possibly… She shook her head to clear it. No, that was ridiculous. If he had a prior engagement and blew it off long enough to transform for plain old Marinette… Well, that would mean he _cared_ about her. And not just the romanticized “He gives me a silly nickname and kissed my hand” way she’d been internally waxing lyrical about not five minutes ago. This was _reality_ , and in reality, logic would dictate he’d need a _reason_ to _transform_ for her, especially so soon after a battle. No, it had to have been a coincidence. Coincidence and convenience. The alternative suggested he _knew_ her in real life or something…

Her pencil nearly skidded off the paper as the notion struck her. _Now_ she was being ridiculous. She didn’t know who Chat was in real life, that would be absurd. _‘Even with the magic,’_ she thought, reaching for a pencil sharpener and jabbing the pencil in, _‘I’d_ know _him, wouldn’t I? Maybe not, like,_ consciously _, but I’d_ feel _him, wouldn’t I?’_ She rotated the pencil mechanically. They were _soulmates_ , she knew that now — soulmates didn’t have to be romantic, although a bit of the soppy, romantic part of her could hope they were. But they were soulmates nonetheless, even if only because they were bound by two sides of the same magical coin. Ladybug and Chat Noir; good luck and bad; creation and destruction.

Some part of her would be able to _feel_ if her other half was near, wouldn’t it?

She didn’t know anyone like that, anyway. Nobody she’d fall so easily into step with, who’d know what she was thinking before she did, who’d finish her sentences without prompting…

Nino’s face swam unbidden in the forefront of her mind. _‘You were practically joined at the hip,’_ he’d explained. _‘Acting like you were_ dating _…’_

There was that rushing sound in her ears again.

She opened her mouth to ask Tikki about it, ignoring the mild ache beginning at the base of her skull — although about _what_ was starting to get a bit hazy — and happened to glance back down at her hand. She’d been _looking_ at what she was drawing, of course, but she hadn’t really _seen_. She blinked down at her creation.

Adrien Agreste looked innocently up at her from under her abandoned pencil strokes.

She wanted to grind her teeth in frustration, perhaps take her eraser to his gently smiling face and remove him from her sight, but all the emotion she could summon was a deep, drained sense of _loss_ , wiping away anything else she might have had on her mind. Without thinking she let a finger run tenderly down his paper skin, lightly smudging the graphite.

It had been a selfish love, perhaps, and an arguably superficial one at that, but he’d been her first love nonetheless. It hadn’t been fair to either of them, but she couldn’t help it. She’d been so _angry_ when they first met, when she thought he was just another spoiled, snobby rich kid, with the gum and Chloé and every single misunderstanding that first week. Maybe it would have been better if it had just stayed that way — if he hadn’t explained himself, if she hadn’t _let_ him. But then he gave her his umbrella, and suddenly she’d been tongue-tied, and it had all gone downhill from there. He was so sweet, such a caring, loving person who only saw the good in everyone. It wasn’t _fair_.

And then he’d shot her down, using her _alter-ego_ of all things as an excuse, and she couldn’t get over it. That was the cold, hard truth. As much as she wanted to, as much as she tried, months and months later, she _still_ wasn’t over it. Not entirely. The feeling was a dull ache instead of a sharp pain now, but there was a tiny part deep inside her that still _hurt_ , somehow.

She pushed the book away.

To think that after all that, after all the pain and heartbreak and avoidance, Alya would spring such a loaded question so casually at lunch today, in a public place, in front of Nino, in front of _him_ … It opened up that old wound again, the one that throbbed as she drifted off to sleep, reminding her in harsh whispers that he didn’t love her, never had and never _would_ love her back.

 _‘When did you two hook up?’_ Alya’s voice echoed loudly in her mind.

At the time she’d been too taken off-guard, too abruptly yanked from her new-sort-of-relationship high by the question to be anything but confused, and even after the Akuma attack it was too fresh; besides, she’d had other concerns at the time. But now that she’d had time to think about it, she was a whirlwind of emotions, very few of them good.

First off, there was the simple fact that Alya had asked at all, never mind the where and the how. Did she _seriously_ think Marinette would keep something like that a secret from her best friend? After everything? After their discussions in hushed whispers in abandoned corners of the school courtyard, and over the phone late at night, where Alya was the more enthusiastic of the pair regarding Adrien’s potential interest in her. Which was non-existent, of course. That beet-red spittake of his at the suggestion should have been all the evidence she needed.

Sure, he didn’t like her. It hurt, but she accepted it. She’d done her best to move on — she had Chat now, and even if she didn’t, Adrien wasn’t interested. They simply weren’t meant to be. Fair enough. But did he have to be so… _obvious_ about it? She wasn’t repulsive. The mere thought of kissing her couldn’t be _that_ off-putting, could it? Chat Noir didn’t seem to mind, anyway…

Then again, Chat couldn’t keep his hands off _Ladybug_ , and Paris’s favorite superheroine Ladybug was _not_ the same as Marinette Dupain-Cheng, no matter what Tikki said. The same person, of course, but not the _same_. Ladybug was collected, mature, diplomatic. Marinette was ambitious, stubborn, artsy. Ladybug took charge because people looked up to her; Marinette took charge because _someone_ had to — because either she did, or Chloé got another excuse to boss people around for the simple reason of nobody having the guts to stand in her way. Marinette was clumsy where Ladybug was graceful, jumpy where Ladybug was calm, an open book to Ladybug’s inherent air of mystery.

She knew, logically, that the only real difference between herself and Ladybug was covered cheekbones and some magical Spandex. She also knew that Marinette was smart, pretty, talented and well-liked in her own right. Marinette and Ladybug were two aspects of one person — one showed the sides of the girl the other could not. Still, Ladybug was… _more_. She was the only one Chat could see. She was the one Chat fell for. The one Adrien admired. The one Chloé fucking Bourgeois idolized, the one with her very own statue and city-wide holiday. Tikki could spout motivational speeches until she was blue in the face. It came from a good place and cheered her up when Marinette felt insecure in comparison to _herself_ , but ultimately, it didn’t matter.

Ladybug would always be… _more_.

 _‘It’s a shame it’s too dangerous to tell anyone who I am,’_ she thought drily, pushing eraser dust idly around the desk with a finger. _‘Any therapist I’d hire would have a field day.’_

That didn’t mean, of course, that she was unhappy with herself or her life in general — even though it had been hard to see right in the thick of it, even Adrien’s rejection wasn’t necessarily an objectively bad thing. If he’d said yes, it might not have gone well after all. She’d been so in love with the idea of him, going on an actual date with him might very well have ended with a slower kind of heartbreak.

And what of Chat Noir? He would have kept pining from afar, suffering the same sort of rejection and pain without even the option to talk to her about it, to confess his feelings. He wasn’t the sort of person to knowingly intrude on her hypothetical happiness just to get something off his chest — especially something he clearly thought had been obvious from the start.

_‘Why, kitty, do you like me or something?’_

His face had twitched adorably at that. _‘It’s almost like I’ve spent the last three years trying to convince you to go out with me or something.’_

If either of them had to go through that pain, she was glad it had been her. He was her best friend, after all.

She pushed off the wall with her toes and her chair rolled gently across the floor as she stretched. There was something still niggling at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite place it — a sort of uncomfortable, empty _itch_ telling her something was off. She couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, why it was there… something was missing…

The sudden vibrating of her cellphone broke her out of her thoughts with a start. She rolled back to her desk and picked up. It was Alya.

“Hey, girlie, you still home?” She sounded slightly out of breath.

“Yeah,” said Marinette. Tikki stirred slightly on her perch, her large blue eyes slitting open to locate the noise. “Have you been running?”

“Nah, just… walking real fast,” said Alya. “Missed my bus. I’m on my way over.”

“Already?” Marinette checked her watch in surprise. “Shouldn’t you be in classes still?”

“It’s a long story,” said Alya. “I’m almost there.”

“Okay, well, the door’s open,” said Marinette. Adrien stared blankly at the ceiling from her sketchbook. She closed it and stuffed it in the closest drawer.

“Yeah, I know.” There was a pause, punctuated by the distant rushing of cars from Alya’s end.

“…Is everything okay?” asked Marinette.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. I’ll see you soon.” The line went dead.

“Who was that?” said Tikki. It wasn’t really a question; the kwami had an eerie way of always knowing who was on the other line, even when no names were said — Marinette could never decide whether it was magical hearing or just omnipotence, but at least she was polite enough to ask anyway.

“Alya.” Marinette tossed the phone on the desk and did an automatic once-over of the room out of habit, looking for incriminating signs of her secret identity. There wasn’t anything out of place — there never was — but you never could tell with Alya. She had eyes like a hawk. “She’s on her way over.”

Tikki blinked slowly. “You don’t sound very happy,” she observed.

Marinette sighed. “It’s just…” She rubbed her temples. “After what happened at lunch, I’m not sure I’m up for more… _interrogations_ today.”

Tikki made a sympathetic noise. “She’s just… curious,” she said gently. “You know Alya. She probably could have been more… _tactful_ about it, but I’m sure she didn’t mean it badly. Her heart’s in the right place.”

Marinette grunted noncommittally as she pulled the elastic out of one of her braids. “I guess,” she said, although her voice sounded doubtful even in her own ears. “Still, it wasn’t very cool of her. And _there_ , of all places.” She’d barely even thought of the café itself the past few hours. Alya’s idea too, of course. She sighed. “Plus,” she gestured vaguely at the phone on her desk, “she sounded really _weird_ on the phone. She doesn’t, like, _announce_ herself like that. Maybe she’ll text, but a phone call?” She shook her head, loosening the braid so her hair flowed down in waves. “She’s been strange today. I know part of it was me being all spacey earlier, but…” Her fingers stilled, her other braid still half-intact. “She’s never gotten mad at me after an attack before.”

“She worries,” said Tikki soothingly, floating down to rest on Marinette’s knee. “It’s not easy, being friends with a superhero—”

She broke off mid-sentence as the front door downstairs slammed, followed by a string of muffled curses. “She’s here,” hissed Marinette. “Go.” Tikki flitted wordlessly out of sight.

Marinette rolled over to the trapdoor and opened it. “You come into my house, you break all my shit,” she complained dramatically to the hole. “On this, the day of my daughter’s wedding…”

“Can it, Godfather,” echoed Alya’s voice. “There was a box in the way. Your priceless family heirlooms are safe from me. For now.” She came into view and began to trudge up the stairs. “Are your parents spring cleaning or something? Actually, don’t answer that.” Marinette scooted out of the way and Alya closed the trapdoor behind her. “I brought you your homework.”

“Thanks,” said Marinette, accepting the small stack of papers as Alya looked her up and down critically.

“You look good,” she commented, letting her bag slide to the floor with a thump.

“I told you I wasn’t sick,” Marinette reminded her with a shrug, shuffling the papers together and depositing them in a neat pile on her desk.

“You were pale and on the verge of collapse,” said Alya primly, not so much sitting as draping herself over the chaise. “I was doing my duty as Best Friend.” Marinette could practically hear the capital letters injected into the title.

“Right, that’s why you vanished the second I crossed the street,” she said drily. “Because you were so worried.”

“You weren’t _dying_ ,” scoffed Alya, gesturing at her. “I mean, _clearly_. Besides, we had to get back to school, and Nino wanted to give me another earful about lunch today.”

Marinette leaned back in her seat. “What do you mean, ‘another’?”

Alya looked at her blankly. “When he pulled me off to the side during lunch?” she said. “Don’t you remember?”

It took her a moment, but then Marinette _did_ remember. Of course, she hadn’t taken much note of it at the time, being so caught up in her Chat Noir daydreams as she was. And then he — no, _Adrien_ had gotten some jam on his face, and it had seemed only natural to wipe it off for him…

It was briefly as though her head was submerged in water, her vison blurring slightly and sounds becoming muffled as the memory faded softly. It took barely more than a second, but it was as if time had slowed in that moment, and when it was over she blinked dazedly in confusion, suddenly lightheaded. Luckily, Alya didn’t seem to notice.

“He was telling me off for bringing you both there and made me promise not to say anything stupid,” she was saying. “But, well, it only got worse from there.” Alya sighed. “I — I’m really sorry about today, by the way. About all of it.”

Marinette looked away, staying silent.

“It — I was horrible, putting you on the spot like that. Especially there. With Adrien.” Marinette could see Alya out of the corner of her eye, picking at her fingernails. “I… got carried away. I’m sorry.”

Marinette observed the curtains of her hair, creating a lightly curling border around the edges of her vision. “…Thanks,” she said finally to her shoes.

Alya smiled at her weakly when she looked up. “I have something weird to show you,” she said.

“What kind of weird?”

Alya dug around in her bag and produced her notebook. “I was screwing around in history class,” she said, flipping through the pages, “and… well.” She seemed to find what she was looking for, and tapped the paper triumphantly.

“What is it?” asked Marinette, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“I have to warn you,” began Alya, and Marinette noticed a hint of nervousness in her tone, “I’m not quite sure what will happen when you look at this, so just… prepare yourself.”

Marinette furrowed her brow. “Prepare myself?” she said. “Prepare myself for what?”

“It’s just… Alix got sick, and I don’t want you to get hurt, but I need a second opinion and you made me _promise_ not to tell anyone, so…”

Marinette’s pulse quickened, although she wasn’t quite sure why. “What do you mean, Alix got sick? You’re not making any sense.”

“Alix looked at this and got so sick I had to help her out of class, that’s why I’m here so early,” said Alya. “Well, not this _exactly_ , I did another one while I was waiting for the bus, and, I mean, as soon as we got into the hall she was fine, she didn’t even remember it, but—”

“Alya,” said Marinette, cutting her off, “you’re scaring me. What the _hell_ are you talking about?”

Alya sighed. “Right,” she said. “I forgot, I never told you.” She took a deep breath. “You remember when you told me about Chat Noir? About him possibly being at Chloé’s party a few months back?”

Marinette swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “You mean the bad tip you _promised_ you’d drop?”

“Yeah, well, I… didn’t.”

There was a pause. “What the hell, Alya?” said Marinette as Alya grinned sheepishly. “You _promised_! You looked me in the eye and said you’d drop it! You told _Chat Noir_ you’d drop it!”

“I _did_ drop it!” said Alya defensively. “Mostly. Off and on.”

“Alya…” Marinette groaned as her head dropped into her hands.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Alya assured her quickly. “I haven’t gotten anything conclusive, and I’m still not gonna _tell_ anyone. Well, like, maybe _you_ , but—”

“ _No_ ,” said Marinette immediately, and Alya looked shocked. “No, Alya, you can’t tell _anyone_ if you find out, you hear me? It’s bad enough if _one_ person knows, let alone two.”

“Hey, you’re probably the safest person to tell,” argued Alya. “You were the only one in our class back in collège who never got Akumatized, you and Adrien.”

“That doesn’t mean the option isn’t there,” Marinette pointed out.

“Seriously? You’re the most upbeat, optimistic person I know.” Alya leaned forward in her seat, her voice low and tense. “Even with the Adrien drama, when you were freaking out in the halls and crying at the drop of a hat. If Hawkmoth couldn’t get you _then_ , well, how the hell is he gonna do it now?”

Marinette was silent again as Alya waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, I don’t _have_ his identity, so I couldn’t tell you now anyway. What I _do_ have—” She tapped her nails lightly on the notebook, “—is _this_.” She shoved it at Marinette, who accepted it automatically. “ _Read it_ ,” Alya whined at her when she hesitated. “Just… promise if you need to puke or something, try to aim it _away_ from the merchandise, ‘kay?”

Marinette inhaled deeply through her nose, and looked down.

She stared at the page for several moments, blinking only twice. Alya looked on anxiously. “Well?” she prompted when Marinette didn’t say anything. “How are you feeling?”

“A little annoyed,” confessed Marinette, looking up.

Alya looked perplexed. “ _Annoyed_ ,” she repeated. “Not nauseous, lightheaded, faint—”

“You gave me a list of reasons why Adrien and _Chat Noir_ are the same person,” said Marinette irritably. “Of course I’m _annoyed_.”

“You — you can _read that_?”

Marinette furrowed her brow. “Uh, yeah, am I not supposed to?”

Alya’s face was lighting up the way the sun rose — slow and intense. “You’re telling me,” she said, practically vibrating with excitement, “you can read what’s on that paper.”

“ _Yes_ , that’s what I said.”

“It makes sense to you.” The sentence sounded like Alya had meant to frame it as a question, but the punctuation had gotten mixed up along the way.

“…Yeah?” Alya’s lost punctuation seemed to have taken up residence in Marinette’s phrasing instead. “Why?”

Alya made a series of triumphant punches into the air as she wiggled in her seat. “I _can’t_!” she said delightedly.

Marinette blinked at her. Looked down at Alya’s handwriting — not _neat_ at the best of times, but particularly haphazard and spiky here — and back up at her friend, who was flushed from excitement. “What do you mean, you can’t? You wrote this, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but I can’t _read_ it,” said Alya, as though it were obvious. Marinette raised an eyebrow. “Oh, shit, wait, I never told you!” Alya covered her mouth, but her grin was hard to contain.

“Told me what?” There was something about the list that bothered Marinette. The subject matter, of course, which she’d barely skimmed once she realized what it was — Alya just couldn’t let such an absurd theory die in peace, could she? — but there was something _else_ , something burrowing into her mind and making her head throb subtly again. She closed the notebook as surreptitiously as she could.

“Told you what I _found_.” There was a note of something bordering on a smug kind of indulgence as Alya relayed to her everything she’d discovered about the identity magic from investigating Chat Noir. Everything Chat had later revealed to Ladybug, so many months ago on the top of the Arc de Triomphe. Her explanation lacked the same _understanding_ Chat had, as a Miraculous holder, but hers was also far more detailed and exhaustive account than his had been. Understandable, given that she wouldn’t have shown him all her cards, but he still got the most important things down. Marinette had heard most of it before, and what little she didn’t know was mostly confined to the closer details of _how_ the magic affected someone, not _why_.

The _why_ was the important part.

Still, she had to pretend this was all news to her.

“W-wow,” she said as Alya finished with an expectant look in her eye. “That’s… That’s really interesting.” Really, _interesting_? That was the best adjective she could come up with? She cringed internally. Even with all the false awe she’d tried to inject in her voice, expecting Alya to accept that reaction would be a stretch. Although the stutter hadn’t been planned, so maybe that would balance things out. She stuttered when she was excited, right?

Alya wasn’t impressed. “ _Interesting_?” she repeated, scandalized. “It’s _interesting_? That’s the best you can do? It’s fucking _incredible_ is what it is. _Spectacular_ , actually!” She kicked Marinette lightly in the shin. “What is _up_ with you, anyway? I know you’re sick and all, but you could at least _pretend_ to be enthusiastic.”

“I’m sorry, this is, like, super-cool and all, but…” Marinette waved the notebook around. “You’re comparing Chat Noir and _Adrien Agreste_. _Again._ On a list you’re telling me _you can’t even read_. How the hell do you expect me to react?”

“Marinette, we’re talking about _magic_ here! Actual, real-life, honest-to-God _magic_. Who cares _who_ I’m comparing Chat goddamn Noir to? You don’t think _actual magic_ is worthy of a little patented Marinette Freakout?”

Marinette stuck her tongue out. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve been chasing _magical superheroes_ for nearly four years now. Magic isn’t exactly a ‘new thing’ anymore.”

Alya wrinkled her nose. “When did you get so jaded?” She took the notebook from Marinette’s loose grasp and leafed through it again. “If you don’t think this is the coolest thing since sliced bread, you clearly don’t have a pulse. I mean,” she gestured vaguely with her free hand in between swipes at the pages, “yeah, magic isn’t directly new to us anymore. Hell, magic itself was never _new_ to begin with, strictly speaking. But there are _sides_ to it, sides we never knew existed, and I — I think I just discovered one. You don’t think that’s _insane_?” She shoved the notebook back under Marinette’s nose, opened to a page she hadn’t seen before. “Look at this,” she demanded.

Marinette looked. “It’s a bunch of scribbles,” she said.

“So you can’t read it.” Marinette never knew anyone could combine sounding triumphant and disappointed, but Alya managed that just fine.

“No.”

“Any headaches? Nausea—”

“ _No,_ Alya. It’s literally just scribbles.” She turned the notebook over to show her. “Look, all the lines overlap, the letters change sizes through the few words that are _actual_ words, the rest is just a bunch of squiggly lines…” She squinted at Alya, who’s face had gone slightly pale. “What’s wrong?” she asked concernedly.

“I told you, I can’t read it.” Alya looked away, blinking rapidly. “Not just, like, it doesn’t make sense, but I physically _can’t_. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t even really remember what I tried to write.” She bit her lip. “You said there are some words?” she asked.

Marinette nodded, feeling her annoyance melt away slightly. “Just a few legible ones. There’s, uh, ‘Ladybug…’” She scanned the paper, feeling only a slight twinge in her temples as she concentrated. Being made aware of the supposed potential limitations made it somehow harder. “Okay, I see ‘Chat Noir,’ ‘Miraculous,’ ‘identity magic,’ and a lot of question marks.”

Alya’s mouth twitched. “That sounds like me,” she said. “Excessive punctuation. Anything else?”

Marinette shook her head.

Alya sank back in the chaise, chewing her lip a little harder. She seemed to be having an internal debate with herself, so Marinette simply waited. “Hand it back over,” she said finally, hand outstretched. “Maybe you can look over the Chat list again.”

“I can do it,” said Marinette. “It’s the next page over, right? And I have it in my hand anyway—”

“Wait, don’t—” began Alya hurriedly, but Marinette had already leafed over.

“Wait, this isn’t…” She furrowed her brow. “LADYNOIR” and “ADRIENETTE” headed two neat columns, right smack in the middle of the page. Interlinking lines crisscrossed the lists — rather orderly lists, considering, complete with bullet points, much like the Adrien/Chat Noir list she’d _actually_ been looking for — detailing things she hadn’t noticed about herself. About either side of herself. About Chat. About Adrien. Things that blurred in front of her very eyes, things she _knew_ made sense until comprehension set in and she _saw_ them written down, black on white; things that made her head ache and that sense of foreboding set in again, the one that told her instinctively “ _Don’t look_.”

She looked.

She couldn’t remember lots of it when her eyes flitted away, but she _looked_.

“Alya,” she said, her voice shaking in spite of herself. “What is this?”

“I — You weren’t supposed to see that!” Alya tried to grab the notebook back but Marinette held on.

“What. _Is this_?” she asked again, harder this time.

“It was… I was trying something out,” said Alya weakly, shamefully. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I wasn’t supposed to see that you were comparing my supposed _secret relationship_ with _Adrien fucking Agreste_ to _Ladybug and Chat Noir_?” She didn’t raise her voice, but Alya shrank back as though she had.

“I was trying to see if the list thing worked!” said Alya defensively. “And it did while I was making it, but I couldn’t read it afterwards. And then Alix saw it and nearly threw up—”

“ _This_ is what Alix saw?” Marinette bristled. “You _showed her_?”

“Of course not, she read it over my shoulder!” Alya’s jaw was set, eyes guarded. “She doesn’t remember, if that’s what you’re worried about. She didn’t even remember that there was a paper to _read_ , much less what was on it.”

“So, what, the Chat list was my _decoy_?”

“No! Well, _kind_ of, I mean—”

“You wrote that so I wouldn’t find _this_?” said Marinette angrily. “Why didn’t you start with that one then? If you can’t get that stupid theory out of your head, you might as well stick to it!” She wanted to throw the stupid thing at Alya’s head, but she couldn’t bring herself to let the notebook go.

“It’s not a stupid theory! If you just think about it—”

“I don’t _have_ to, because Adrien is _not_ Chat Noir.”

“He could be!”

Marinette’s nails bit into the layers of paper, her knuckles growing white. “No,” she said through gritted teeth, “he couldn’t.”

“How are you so sure?” Alya demanded. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I just _do_.”

“No, you _don’t_. Nobody does. Look, just because you have some imaginary love affair with the guy—”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Sorry, I just…” Alya breathed deeply through her nose and began again, slightly calmer. “With the party at Le Grande Paris, and the whole Ladybug thing—”

Marinette massaged her temples, a decidedly non-magical headache threatening to develop. “Oh my _God_ , will you give it a _rest_?”

“No, I _won’t_.” Alya was starting to get angry, in the way she only got when she was trying to prove a point. “It makes _sense_. I don’t care how fucking good you think your acting is, I know you too well to fall for that line about how he absolutely for sure _totally_ didn’t let his crush for Ladybug slip. Everyone and their mother knows he’s head over heels for her, but he _likes_ you. He wouldn’t say no to a date with you just because his torch burns for some chick in Spandex who doesn’t know him from a hole in the wall. There’s something _real_ there. And Chat Noir’s obsessed with her.”

“But—”

“ _And_ ,” Alya continued, raising her voice to drown out Marinette’s protests, “the only person to fit his description at that stupid fundraiser was Adrien goddamn Agreste, and don’t _fucking_ tell me he didn’t look the spitting image of Chat Noir on that red carpet or I swear to God I will kick your rolly chair down the stairs.”

“Oh, yes, he must have _loads_ of time to kick ass in between photoshoots,” said Marinette sarcastically. Her heart was pounding so hard her hands were shaking, but it wasn’t just adrenaline at the sudden argument. There was something else, something deeper, something _throbbing_ at the back of her mind, and she clung to the notebook for dear life as she tried desperately not to think about it.

“Now you’re just deflecting.”

“Of course I’m fucking deflecting! You won’t listen to reason? Fine, I won’t stop you from going on a wild goose chase.” Her fingers picked shakily at spots in the ink on the page. “But why’d you have to drag me into it?”

“I told you, I was testing—”

“Yeah, yeah, you were ‘ _testing your lists_.’” Air quotes were hard when your hands shook like leaves. “But why _me_?”

Alya paused, muscles in her jaw working as she looked away. “I’d forgotten about the headaches,” she said quietly. “I told you I’ve been working off and on with the Chat thing, a-and it’s mostly been off, but then I was thinking about, well, _this_ today, and then the Alix thing happened and…” She paused again. “I thought about earlier, when you went home—”

“When you sent me home,” Marinette reminded her, a tad icily.

Alya waved her hand dismissively. “I thought you were sick,” she said. “But then I thought, well, those headaches of yours _were_ pretty convenient.”

“…Convenient?”

“Yeah, convenient.” She pursed her lips. “You’ve been acting weird for months. Nino mentioned he asked you about Adrien, right before you got all woozy. And then when _I_ mentioned Adrien, you got _another_ headache. Pretty weird, right?”

“P-pretty _coincidental_ , you mean.” Curse her nervous stutter.

Alya rolled her eyes. “There’s no such thing as ‘coincidence’ when it comes to _this_ ,” she said.

“Sure there is. The existence of magic doesn’t negate the possibility of _coincidence._ ”

“Yeah _right_. How many ‘coincidences’ have to happen before you admit something’s going on here?”

“Oh, I don’t know, about as many as the times I have to tell you you’re going _completely insane_ before you believe me.” Alya’s eyes narrowed. “Besides, what are you going to do now? Because all _this_ ,” Marinette shook the notebook for emphasis, “seems to imply is that _you_ think _I’m_ Ladybug.”

A dangerous silence fell. The words hung between them like a deadweight, and Marinette cursed every fiber of her being for daring to utter them aloud. She hoped for a lot of things in that moment: that Alya wouldn’t call her bluff, that the words hadn’t been enough to break the magic, that she hadn’t — God forbid — put another idea into Alya’s head thanks to her big fat mouth. Most of all, she hoped desperately she’d only _imagined_ actually saying it, or if she had, that Alya had somehow gone momentarily deaf, but that seemed to be the least likely possibility, judging by the look on Alya’s face.

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until Alya said, “Of course not.”

A part of her was slightly shocked, but she was mostly relieved as Alya went on. “No offence, but the thought never even crossed my mind.”

“Then why the comparison?” demanded Marinette. She’d always wondered whether it was possible for the human body to actually vibrate, and it seemed she was nearing an answer to that question as her knees trembled. She was infinitely glad she’d been sitting down this whole time. A part of her worried Alya would see and start asking questions, internal or otherwise, but she seemed not to notice.

“Because of Adrien,” said Alya. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like you don’t bear a passing physical resemblance, but that’s kind of the point. See, I have a theory.”

“Another one?” said Marinette drily.

“Shut up. I worked it out on the way over.” She was getting excited again in spite of the heated argument, scooting forward until she was on the edge of the chaise. “If we assume Adrien is Chat Noir — _don’t_ ,” she added, finger raised in anticipation of Marinette’s protests, “this is a hypothetical. _If_ we assume Adrien is Chat, this raises some identity magic questions. How would it affect him? Would it affect him the same in and out of the suit?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Don’t interrupt,” said Alya sharply, but not unkindly. “What if it affects him differently around Ladybug?”

“Differently as opposed to what?” The more Alya sat here, dragging her unwanted through a brainstorming session about her partner, the more Marinette wanted to scream. She wanted Alya to _go_ , she wanted her to _stop_ , but at the same time, she had this kind of… urge to find out what she knew.

“As opposed to _us_ , duh.” Alya rolled her eyes again. “Obviously he doesn’t know who she really is, but… what if he, like, _attached_ onto you because — I don’t know, you remind him of her?”

It was as if someone had replaced Marinette’s blood with ice. She sat there, frozen in place as Alya’s voice continued dimly in the background. “Physically, of course. You’re too… _Marinette_ to remind him of her personality-wise, no offence. And, I don’t know, you kind of still have feelings for him, right? And you were in such a good mood today, maybe that’s why you reciprocated—”

There was a rushing in Marinette’s ears as she heard her own voice say, “Alya, I think you should leave.”

Alya broke off mid-sentence. It seemed to take her a moment before what Marinette had said sunk in, or even what she herself had said, but when it did her eyes widened and her face instantly morphed into — what was that? Shock? Regret? Marinette was to numb to care. “I — oh my God, Marinette I didn’t mean it like… Jesus, I wasn’t thinking, it was just a bunch of word vomit…”

“It’s fine,” said Marinette automatically. “I’m just not feeling well.”

“Well, we _are_ talking about — _fuck_ , I did it again—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Marinette hollowly, but Alya seemed to catch her tone of finality and stood up, clutching the strap on her bag like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” she tried.

“Here’s your notebook,” said Marinette. Alya accepted it wordlessly and turned to go.

She opened the trapdoor and had nearly taken the first step when she stopped and turned, looking down at the notebook, still open on that first list. She tore it out, crumpled it, and tossed it at the trash can by Marinette’s desk, where it bounced limply off the rim. “I won’t be needing that,” she said by way of explanation. Marinette was silent. “I-I’ll see you at school,” said Alya quietly, and left.

When the muffled thud of the front door sounded through Marinette’s now-closed trap door, Tikki inched her way quietly out of hiding. “Marinette,” she began softly.

“I knew she wouldn’t drop it,” said Marinette, her voice surprisingly steady in spite of herself. “I _know_ her. But did she have to drag _me_ into it? And then _tell_ me about it?”

“You told her not to tell anyone else,” said Tikki in her gentle, diplomatic voice. “She trusts you. She doesn’t know you’re Ladybug.”

“So it’s my fault?” There was no accusation in Marinette’s voice, but it sounded like one by default.

“Of course not.” Tikki floated over and came to rest on Marinette’s knee. “But, in her mind, there was a reason she came to you about this. She’s probably used to talking to herself about it, that’s why she didn’t think before she spoke. It’s a _reason_ , not an excuse.”

“She basically told me I wasn’t good enough to be Ladybug,” whispered Marinette. Alya was her _friend_. Even if she couldn’t know the truth, friends were supposed to support the best in you. The fact that Alya didn’t think she had what it took to be Ladybug, even hypothetically…

“Of _course_ you’re good enough to be Ladybug,” said Tikki sternly. “You _are_ Ladybug. No matter what Alya may or may not have implied is—”

“What, _stupid_? Not worth thinking about? Tikki, she’s _obsessed_ with Ladybug! She’s dedicated her _life_ to worshipping me! She’s thought every girl in Paris under twenty is Ladybug, even _Chloé_. How is that supposed to make me feel?” The image of Tikki blurred behind tears she hadn’t realized were rising. “She threw Chat in my face, and she wouldn’t shut up about stupid _Adrien_.” She scrubbed at her eyes with a fist. “He _isn’t_ Chat Noir. He _can’t_ be.”

“Why not?” said Tikki softly.

“Because if Adrien is Chat Noir… If he’s Chat Noir, then he’s j-just like Alya,” Marinette hiccupped, tears falling freely now. “Marinette isn’t g-good enough for him. And if Chat Noir is Adrien, then he’ll l-leave me when he finds out who I am. I’ll l-lose him, Tikki, I t- _told_ you I’d lose him!”

“Marinette, _stop_.” Tikki fluttered up, cupping Marinette’s nose in her tiny paws. “You _are_ good enough, to Adrien _and_ to Alya! To _me_! You’re my chosen, and if I tell you you’re good enough to be Ladybug, you _are_.” Marinette sniffled quietly. “And you don’t know Chat Noir will leave you. In fact, I _know_ he won’t, because he loves you. Alya loves you. _I_ love you.” Tikki booped her nose affectionately. “And don’t you forget it.”

Marinette wiped her eyes. “Thanks, Tikki,” she said. Her voice was so hoarse it almost sounded like a whisper.

“It’s true,” insisted Tikki.

Marinette felt the corners of her mouth quirk in spite of herself. _‘Maybe someday I’ll believe you,’_ she thought wearily. Aloud she said, “Tikki, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“About the magic… I-I don’t think I want to get the full explanation right now, but… is the magic person-by-person?”

Tikki’s antennae twitched. “How do you mean?”

“Like… if I wanted to protect myself more against someone, like, more than other people, subconsciously…”

Tikki hummed quietly. “The short answer is yes,” she said. “The magic adjusts. And before you ask, yes, it works both ways.”

Marinette chewed her lip. “Does it affect me differently in and out of costume?”

Another twitch of the antennae, but Tikki’s face was impassive. “Yes.”

So Chat was right. “…Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

Tikki drifted down to Marinette’s outstretched palm, considering. “You didn’t ask.”

“How could I ask if I didn’t know what to ask about?”

Tikki shrugged. “It’s like telling someone not to think of something,” she said. “Like… an elephant. If I told you, whatever you do, _don’t_ think of a purple elephant, what would you do?”

“Well, right now I’m thinking about a purple elephant.”

“Exactly.” She shrugged again. “We’ve found it best to not draw attention to it.”

“We… You mean you and…”

“Plagg, yes.” Her antennae twitched again. “It’s not dangerous, of course, but it does make for rather easily distracted chosen.”

Marinette wiped her nose on a sleeve. “But I’ve barely noticed it at all,” she said.

“Perhaps Chat Noir’s magic isn’t as strong on you, but it’s different if you figure it out on your own. If we’d told you right out what to look out for, you’d both be running into walls all over Paris.” She giggled, a melodious tinkling of bells.

“I guess you’re right.” Chat Noir would, at least. Of course Marinette was curious in her own way, but Chat Noir had been begging her to spill the beans for years. He’d have gone out of his mind.

“You should get some rest,” said Tikki in a motherly tone, patting Marinette’s wrist. “You’ll feel better.”

“I will,” said Marinette. She was exhausted after Alya’s visit, after her short cry. There was no way she wanted to see Chat later feeling like… _this_.

Tikki smiled at her and gave her thumb a quick squeeze before she flitted off. Another thing Marinette loved her for: the fact that she always knew when Marinette needed to be alone. Or, at least, _feel_ alone. She was never truly alone with the kwami, but the illusion was nice.

Marinette scooted back closer to the desk and pulled out the black sketchbook. When she opened it, it fell perfectly to expose her accursed sketch of Adrien, smudged cheek and all. She considered it for a moment, hand hesitating for a moment over the eraser before picking up the pencil instead. She was filled with the overwhelming urge to smudge out his perfect, stupid face, but another, more insistent part of her wanted to _create_ , not destroy. She was Ladybug, goddess of creation, and if she wanted to rid herself of something, she’d make it into something better.

Her pencil went to work.

It didn’t take as long as she thought it would, or maybe she’d been too absorbed to notice the passage of time. She wasn’t sure — her mind had been elsewhere.

What lay in front of her now was a beautiful drawing of Chat Noir’s face, smirking up at her through layers of graphite and ink. She blinked at it. That was odd, she couldn’t remember when she’d started drawing his face — it had been all about the details. The messy hair, the mask, the slitted pupils… It hadn’t taken as much time as it should have. Not if she constructed a full bust from scratch. There was a smudge on the line of his cheek. She’d been trying to cover something up…

The space behind her eyes throbbed as she pressed her palms into her eye sockets. When she blinked away the stars the odd feeling was gone, and all that remained was that smudge of graphite. She picked up her eraser and with a few quick strokes it was gone. Just Chat Noir again.

Of course it was just Chat Noir. Who else would she have drawn? She closed the book and shoved it back in its drawer. When she collapsed into bed she dreamed briefly of grayscale eyes that used to be something else.

She did not dream that something was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm like Beyoncé: dropping chapters in the middle of the night when nobody's looking.
> 
> Oh, and I didn't actually intend for this to be angsty. The first draft was mostly lighthearted. But never let it be said that I don't give the people what they want.
> 
> Tumblr [here.](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/) I've started posting life updates there sometimes, since people seem to love my old notes and I miss being Snarky and Aloof, and that doesn't work when I have to spend three paragraphs explaining why I can't/haven't been churning out updates like I used to. Short version — ya girl is going through some changes: I've moved back home, started getting my bearings at this new college, and mostly gotten through my first few weeks of classes unscathed! Yay me. I hope this means I can write more. Fingers crossed, y'all.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adrien can't believe his luck.

 

The drive back home from that afternoon’s photoshoot had been quiet and uncomfortable, but when was it not? The Gorilla drove with barely a nod to his charge as Adrien scooted into the backseat of the car, and Nathalie slipped in after him in equal silence. She’d barely said two words to him all day. He stared vaguely out of the window as the scenery flew by.

He hadn’t been dreaming — Ladybug _had_ kissed him last night. _And_ earlier this afternoon. Her earlier quiet, verbal assurances of their… whatever it was… They calmed him. Made everything more real. Of course, her hands all over him in broad daylight might have had something to do with it…

The car was too hot. In a fit of insolence tinged with desperation, he rolled the window down halfway, savoring the precious few seconds in which the brisk pre-spring breeze ruffled his hair and cooled his heating cheeks.

“Close that window,” ordered Nathalie, without looking up from her BlackBerry. “The seats have just been reupholstered.”

It wasn’t raining nearly hard enough to ruin the new Italian leather — it was barely drizzling, if that — but he complied anyway. After last night’s… incident, Nathalie had been stricter than usual. Perhaps she thought such an obvious show of weakness must be compensated for by an overdose of cold professionalism; it didn’t matter that he was the boss’s son with the power to fire her at will. She was still in charge.

He turned his attention instead to the glass itself, and watched as two fat drops of rain raced each other to the rubber rim at the window’s base. One of them paused in its descent, trapped between a smaller drip and a dry patch, and he tapped the spot gently with his fingernail.

“Those windows were _just_ washed, Adrien,” Nathalie snapped again. “Stop fidgeting.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

He clasped his fingers together between his knees and simply watched the trees and buildings go by. He was tired. It was a good kind of tired — he wasn’t running himself ragged like he had at the beginning of the school year — but he still felt his eyes drooping, his muscles fatigued.

The photoshoot hadn’t been particularly difficult or even very long, as far as photoshoots went, but there were still costume changes, hot lights, uncomfortable poses. And that was after a deliciously sleepless night, an Akuma attack, tearing himself away from Ladybug, and running across half of Paris with Marinette on his back.

He’d been worried about her — they all had been. Alya’d been nearly feral when half an hour had passed and she hadn’t found her. Her worry had rubbed off on him too. What if she’d gotten caught somewhere? Knocked out? The Akuma hadn’t been particularly vicious, but things happened in panicked crowds.

Of course she’d been fine. Nino had found her. Adrien had met back up with Alya and they’d gone in the direction Nino had been sent when he didn’t return and… there they were. Hugging in an alley, for some reason.

It was the hugging that caught him off-guard. It shouldn’t have, and he didn’t understand it, but there was something… _off_ about it. Not the hug itself, that wasn’t weird at all, but rather the way they both jumped when Alya called out. Like they’d been caught…

No, that was just stupid. He was projecting. Projecting _what_ , though? It was a perfectly innocent hug between friends, and even if it wasn’t, he was the last person who should have any say in the matter. Still, there was a strange feeling in his stomach as Marinette quickly explained herself to an irritable Alya. Something that almost resembled jealousy, but no, that was too strong a word. He wasn’t sure _what_ to call it, but he was pretty sure it came from the same place that made his pulse thud in his ears when she did a backflip off a halfpipe.

Which was why when he’d suggested they go back to school and the color slowly sapped from her face as her knees shook beneath her, he couldn’t just let her _go_. Let her wander off into the city in her state, regardless of whether or not she insisted she was fine. He’d hovered in that decision for a split second as she left them, continuing straight ahead as Alya and Nino turned to veer right across the street — and then their eyes met. Something passed between them then, her blue eyes catching the light, her freckles set in stark contrast across her pale face, and then her eyes glazed over and she stumbled again.

She was too far away, and the others hadn’t noticed — too caught up in under-the-breath bickering to see — but _he_ saw. His vision wasn’t quite Chat Noir level out of costume, but it was still above average. He saw. And he knew.

“You guys go on ahead,” he’d said suddenly, and the others turned back in surprise.

“Why?” said Alya.

He scrambled to think of an excuse. “I — uh, my scarf!” He gestured vaguely back in the direction of the café. “I think you left it in the booth.”

“I did?” Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “Didn’t I give it back to you when we—”

“It must have fallen out,” he lied apologetically. It was stuffed in the bottom of his bag, but even if it wasn’t it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d lost it. He had a dozen others in his closet at home. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll be quick, but you guys shouldn’t be late to class.”

Nino looked at him for a moment, but waved him off. “See you in class, then.” Adrien breathed a tiny sigh of relief as they turned away.

He raced back into the alley and forced the change despite Plagg’s disgruntled mutterings, and when he bounded to the roof Marinette was straightening herself on the corner, apparently pretending to tie her shoelace. A cover, in case their friends looked back at her. Clever. He had to keep himself from laughing as she jumped at the sight of him.

They bantered lightly as they always did, which was nice, but then she admitted she’d been looking at him. At Adrien. A “stupidly attractive boy,” as she put it. His chest had tightened as she said it. He’d always wondered why she was so awkward around Adrien — he longed for her to talk as easily with him as she did with Chat. Of course it was easier to talk to Chat.

She wasn’t in love with Chat.

He wasn’t sure she’d accept his offer to take her home, and been nearly surprised when she did. It probably helped that there weren’t very many people around outside — he had a feeling she’d be slightly less amenable with an audience — but she’d climbed up on his back with minimal protesting, locking her limbs around him as if they’d practiced a thousand times. There was something familiar about her weight on his back, the strength and position of her grip, but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He wasn’t sure how long Plagg’s second transformation would last without recharging.

He’d been acutely aware of her body pressed against him — her form not quite as… _defined_ as Ladybug’s, beneath all her clothes, but her body heat radiating from her torso and thighs, her breath in his ear, the tension in her muscles relaxing as she got used to the height, the speed… At one point he thought she breathed a low sigh, and he’d had to concentrate extra hard on the next jump so he wouldn’t send them plummeting into the traffic below.

Why was this so _hard_ all of a sudden? Marinette was just… Marinette. She was gorgeous, and his friend, but why the hell did he suddenly feel like this _now_? After he rejected her? After _Ladybug_? He’d pressed a quick kiss to her hand on impulse as he left her, and he could have sworn she started to blush as he vanished. Marinette… _blushing_? Over _Chat_?

But it wasn’t an impulse, was it? That was simply Chat’s way. He kissed the hands of pretty girls with whom he parted company. Except he didn’t do that to other people, not really. Certainly not civilians. He reserved his kisses for his Lady…

His train of thought screeched to a halt and he scrambled in the aftermath. No, not just his Lady. His Lady _and_ Marinette. He’d tried to kiss her hand when he’d first introduced himself to her. Funny, he’d almost forgotten that. When Ladybug sent him to protect Marinette against the Evillustrator. The train of thought begrudgingly started up again. Ladybug and Marinette. Yes. They were the only ones, though…

Adrien leaned his head back against the headrest of his seat and closed his eyes. It felt like the car was spinning.

He hadn’t even realized he’d dozed off until the sharp draft from Nathalie opening the car door woke him up with a start. “Your father has been delayed,” she said, noticing him blearily rubbing his eyes. “He won’t be back until next week.”

“I didn’t know he was supposed to be home today,” he mumbled.

She pursed her lips. “Then I suppose it doesn’t matter.” She waited as he scooted past her onto the driveway. “Do you need me for anything else?” It was a stiff, formal request without substance. She didn’t want to be here any more than he wanted her here.

“Wha…? No, I’m fine. I have homework.” It wasn’t a lie, even if he had no intention on doing any of it.

“Then goodnight.” She slipped back into the car and slammed the door shut without waiting for a reply.

Adrien watched the car slowly pull back onto the road and disappear around the corner before he pulled out his keys. When he was younger, in that awkward stage between being young enough for an au pair and old enough to be left to his own devices, he used to dread these moments. Being left alone in the enormous house, all the adults in his life off with their own diversions or responsibilities. The year after his mom had disappeared was the worst. His father, more distant than ever; the Gorilla, mute and professional; Nathalie, completely unequipped to mother a child she never wanted or asked for.

The year before Chat Noir.

Now he savored these times. Being completely alone, without the possibility of his absence being discovered — it was a gift. One he was preparing quite gleefully to abuse to its fullest now. He smiled to himself. Oh, how far he’d come.

He deposited his bag unceremoniously somewhere inside his bedroom door and shuffled to the kitchen. Plagg wafted behind him. “Please tell me you’re not sneaking out again,” he drawled.

“Tell me, is it sneaking out when there’s nobody to sneak past?” mused Adrien, flicking on the kitchen light.

“You know what I mean.”

“Of course I’m going out, Plagg.” He opened the fridge. “I’m all alone and Ladybug’s waiting for me.”

“Did you plan this with her? With a time and a place?”

“No, but—”

“Then how do you know she’ll be there?”

Adrien took out a wheel of Camembert. “She’s _always_ there, Plagg.”

“What time is it?”

He checked his watch. “Nine-thirty. Why?”

“Well, there you have it. She’s probably already asleep. Too bad, so sad.” Plagg dove into the box with a passion.

“Look, I’m sorry about the double transformation earlier, but you’ve had plenty of time to recharge. It’s been hours.”

“You’re a _superhero_ , kid, and I’m a god. You can’t just go around changing willy-nilly because you want to run after your girlfriends.”

“My—” Adrien spluttered. “I don’t have — _Girlfriends_?”

“Yes, _girlfriends_.” Plagg took a dainty bite of cheese. “Ladybug and that Marinette girl. You can’t just _transform_ to impress her all the time, you know.”

“I don’t — you…” Adrien took a deep breath through his nose. “I’m not abusing my powers,” he said. “Marinette needed my help.”

Plagg gave him a pointed look. “And you couldn’t have helped her as Adrien?”

“Chat could do it faster,” said Adrien, looking away. “I had to get back to school. Besides, Marinette and I are… pretty rocky lately.”

“It didn’t seem that way this afternoon,” said Plagg casually, carefully selecting his next wedge.

Adrien groaned. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” he complained, leaning against the counter. “Nino, now you…”

“Think about it, kid,” said Plagg simply.

 _‘I haven’t been_ that _weird today, have I?’_ wondered Adrien absently, picking at a bit of lint on his jeans. _‘Did I really act_ that _strangely with Marinette?’_ It had all seemed so natural, this black haired girl by his side, anticipating his every move as he anticipated hers… That twinge again, at the base of his skull.

“Ladybug,” he said dully. “It’s that magic, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Stop trying to find her,” said Plagg, almost gently.

“But I _wasn’t_ , I—”

“You _were_ ,” said Plagg. “She likes you, so stop trying to impress people you think might be her. She’ll find you when she’s ready.”

It was possibly the sagest advise Plagg had ever given him, in the least gruff tone Adrien had ever heard him use, and he was about to say so when Plagg said, “Or else I’ll just refuse to transform unless there’s an emergency, and then you won’t get to see her at _all_.”

Adrien glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “You can’t do that.”

“Watch me,” said Plagg smugly.

Adrien leaned forward on his elbows over the kwami and the dairy-related carnage that surrounded him. “I could stop bringing you cheese, you know,” he warned.

Plagg didn’t even blink. “I could just phase through the refrigerator, you know.”

Adrien pursed his lips. “But how could you do that if I stopped buying it for you?” he countered.

Plagg stiffened. “You wouldn’t dare,” he said.

Adrien smiled.

Plagg threw up his paws in disgust. “Fine! You win,” he grumbled, cheese crumbs raining from his whiskers. “Just don’t come crying to me when all this flagrant overuse of my powers comes back to bite you in the ass because you’ve run me ragged, and suddenly there’s an Akuma attack and I’m too _exhausted_ to—”

“Yeah, yeah, you done?”

The ring sucked Plagg in, complaining the whole way.

Chat slipped out the kitchen window and vanished into the night. As the cool night air ruffled his hair, his tail streaming behind him, his pulse was rapidly accelerating. In just a few minutes he was going to see Ladybug. It was a trip he’d taken a thousand times, but somehow it carried more weight now. She would be waiting for him, _wanting_ him now. He was glad for his gloves as he vaulted over a lamp post. His palms were sweating.

He arrived at the Eiffel Tower mere moments before Ladybug did. He marveled at her, the simple elegance of her lithe body swinging up, curving and compensating the shifting of weight and gravity as she alighted on the platform. His heart ached.

“Evening, my Lady,” he purred at her.

She simply slipped into his arms.

“Ladybug?”

She squeezed him just a bit tighter before releasing him just enough to look up at him. “Hi, kitty,” she said, smiling weakly. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

“What’s wrong?” That aching happiness in his chest was quickly being replaced by concern as he searched her face, tired as it was. Her eyes were slightly red.

She sighed. “Bad day,” she said.

“Who do I have to beat up?” he said instantly.

She laughed. “Nobody, I promise.” She shook her head. “I’m just being stupid. Just… hold me for a while?”

He pulled her head to his chest. Her hair was loose now, curled from her earlier braids, and he ran his claws through it soothingly, gently, so it wouldn’t tangle. They stood like that for a bit, warm against each other in the chilly March air, until Chat finally broke the silence. “You wanna talk about it?” he asked.

Her hands slid down his back until their fingers laced together, and she pulled away to lean on the railing, their hands the only remaining contact. “It’s just…” She sighed and shook her head again. “I have this friend,” she began.

“Oh no, not a _friend_.” She chuckled a little at his joke as he slid into place beside her. “Anything but a _friend_.”

She jostled his shoulder. “Ha ha,” she said drily. “It’s just…” She chewed on her lip. “She doesn’t think I could be Ladybug.”

Chat paused. “Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked hesitantly.

She shrugged lopsidedly. “She said I was too… _me_ to be Ladybug.”

“…Oh.”

There was silence as Chat pondered this, as Ladybug stared off into the distance. He didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, of course any suspicion deflected was a good thing. On the other hand…

“She thinks a boy we know is secretly you,” said Ladybug absently. “And she thinks that he thinks I’m… well, me — Ladybug, I mean.” Her mouth twisted. “Or rather that, physically, I reminded him of… me. I’m too ‘me’ to be Ladybug, ‘personality-wise, of course,’” she quoted bitterly.

Chat glanced at her as she shrugged again, brushing some hair out of her eyes. “It’s a good thing, isn’t it?” she asked rhetorically. “I mean, this should be a victory, right? My friend’s… persistent, so if she’s so convinced I can’t be Ladybug, well…”

“It was still a shitty thing to say,” Chat offered.

She smiled slightly. “Yeah, I guess.” She glanced up at him. “I guess I just took it a little hard, that’s all.”

Chat pursed his lips. “What is it about my Lady that turns all her friends into idiots?” he wondered aloud. He caught her eye and grinned.

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “My friends aren’t idiots,” she protested.

“This girl, that loser last year…” Chat raised his eyebrows. “Maybe it’s catching. How long until _I_ turn into a blithering moron?”

“Who says you aren’t one already?” Ladybug countered.

He clutched his chest with a free hand. “You wound me,” he said, putting off an expression he hoped was more pained than constipated.

She giggled. “I’m sure.” She lapsed into silence again, the humor slowly draining from her face. “There’s some other stuff too, but it’s kind of personal.”

He squeezed her hand. “That’s what I’m here for, Bug.”

“No, I mean, like, _identity_ -personal.”

“Oh.”

She sighed again, deeper this time. “I wish…” she began, and trailed off.

“What?”

“I just… Sometimes I wish we could just… be honest, y’know? Just…” She gestured vaguely. “I wish it was safer to tell each other. Easier. But it’s not.” She paused. “It’s too soon.”

Chat’s pulse started hammering again, but differently this time. “It’s been three years, Bug,” he said tentatively. “Almost four.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Yeah, but _this_ … This is new.” She squeezed his hand, sending a thrill right up his arm. “And it’s not safe.” She glanced up at him, the hint of a smile quirking her mouth. “But soon, right?”

He couldn’t contain the grin threatening to split his face in two, but he could restrain it. Slightly. “Soon,” he agreed, butterflies in his stomach roiling madly.

She smiled fully now, eyes sparkling in the weak half-moon. “Now kiss me, _chaton_ , we haven’t got all night.”

He pulled her close, leaning down until their noses touched. “I beg to differ, my Lady,” he purred.

And as he kissed her, as her body pressed against him and her fingers coiled in his hair, his mind echoed with that glorious, wonderful word.

_Soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is writing? What is fanfic? What year is it? Who am I?
> 
> Also I can't fuckin believe that a) season 2 is _out already god help me_ and b) I haven't been able to watch **a n y o f i t**
> 
> My [tumblr](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/)


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chloé Knows What's Up and I slip in a completely unnecessary Panic! At The Disco reference because I'm actual human garbage.

“So,” said Chloé slyly over the rim of her skinny latte, “who is she?”

Adrien choked on some foam. She watched him splutter aimlessly for a few seconds, unable to suppress the quirk of her lips as she watched him squirm. “Who’s _who_?” he croaked eventually.

“Oh, _please_ , I know you better than that.” She set her cup down primly. “Is she someone I know?”

His cheeks darkened to an adorable pink as he looked anywhere but at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not an _idiot_ , Adrien, dear. Don’t insult my intelligence. You’ve got a girlfriend.”

“I do _not_ ,” he insisted. “What gave you that idea?”

Chloé raised an eyebrow. “Do you want the full list, or just the CliffsNotes version?”

His ears were red now. “I don’t—”

She started ticking off her fingers. “You came into class late yesterday,  _without_ a single apology or excuse, which is about as unlikely as me putting on facepaint to join the circus. You’ve been avoiding me more than usual — don’t give me that look, I had to _drag_ you into that limo after school today — which means there’s something you don’t want me to know. You’ve also changed your aftershave, which, if I’m not mistaken, is called _Heartthrob_.” He was fully cringing now, and her smirk widened at his pained expression. She examined her nail beds, pristine as usual. “And you haven’t even said a _word_ about my hair, I just got it cut yesterday.”

His eyes snapped up to examine the long, soft waves trickling down her shoulders. “Of course I noticed. You look great.”

She laughed. “Bullshit. I haven’t done a _thing_ to my hair all week—” She eyed him again, “—which you would have _noticed_ if you were _paying attention_.” She sat back, crossing her arms. “Now,” she said, “who is she?”

Adrien’s mouth flapped open and shut a few times, looking for all the world like a fish out of water. He finally closed it and sighed. “Why do I put up with you?” he said, defeated.

“Because I’m an absolute delight to be around,” she said, sipping her latte. “Also, I’m _right_. Honestly, what’s the big deal? Why won’t you tell me?” Adrien said nothing. “What?” she said, examining his expression. “You think I’m jealous?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Aren’t you?” he said. “I mean, wouldn’t you be? Hypothetically?”

Chloé sighed, and the cup clinked as she put it back on its saucer. The million-euro question, she supposed. “Hypothetically, no.” She pursed her lips, considering. “No, I wouldn’t. Not if you’re happy.” And that was true, mostly.

It had taken a long time — to separate her crush from petty possessiveness, to realize he didn’t _owe_ her his affection just because she liked him — but she was a better person than she was three, four years ago. She’d accepted her crush was unrequited and moved on, on to other boys and celebrity crushes. Even now, looking at him so obviously besotted with someone else, when the hidden remains of her feelings stirred at his lovestruck expressions, potential jealousy didn’t quite register on her list of concerns. Maybe it would come up again, later tonight when she was alone, and she could deal with it then.

Satisfying her curiosity, and perhaps her nosiness, on the other hand, was much more important.

His blush was fading, although not quite gone, and when he looked at her his gaze was probing, stripping down her bravado. She felt a bit like a kid. He always knew her better than anybody. “Really?” he asked.

She looked him square in the eye. “Adrien, I have never once not wanted you to be happy. I might have been a selfish bitch in the past, and I might have had a crush on you, but I am not, nor will I ever be jealous of someone who makes you look or act the way you’ve been acting the past two days.”

His gaze skittered away. “And how have I been acting?”

“Like a Dean Martin song. You’re in _love_.”

His ears were red again, but he was almost smiling. “Am not,” he said.

 “C’mon,” she urged, playfully nudging him in the shin. “ _Tell me._ Give me a _name_.”

“No!” He shook his head emphatically, taking a resolute gulp of his coffee. “Absolutely not.” At least he wasn’t denying her existence anymore, which was a start.

“I won’t stop until you do,” she threatened in a sing-song voice. “I have ways of making you talk…”

“In front of all these witnesses?” he said, quirking his eyebrows in amusement. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She leaned forward on her elbows, subjecting him to the full effect of the icy stare that had sent so many first-years scurrying from her presence in fear. “Are you willing to test that theory?” she challenged.

He didn’t even blink. “Absolutely.”

She deflated with a huff. “I’m not giving up, you know,” she said petulantly. “You’ll tell me eventually.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he replied serenely into his cup.

In the limo afterwards, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. There was that _glow_ again. It was unmistakable. She knew that look.

She’d seen it often enough; had even been the cause of it once or twice. The guy was blissed out of his skull.

Chloé had noticed the change the _second_ Adrien walked into the classroom yesterday morning. It wouldn’t have taken a genius, really, but she liked to think she’d been a bit quicker than most. She didn’t have a chance to talk to him that day, since he spent every available moment with, well, people that weren’t her. That wasn’t necessarily an issue, except for the fact that she was a good person who would not impose on conversations her friends had with other friends.

Not anymore. She was an _adult_.

Luckily for her, she’d had practice observing people — a.k.a. Adrien — from a distance, and she had the added benefit of knowing him for practically as long as they both could remember. She knew his ticks. She knew his mannerisms. It was laughably easy to come to the only conclusion that made sense.

He had someone in his life that made him look that way — she could practically taste the endorphins of a newly-established relationship rolling off him in waves.

And for some reason, he’d tried to hide it from her.

The realization had hurt somewhat. It occurred to her that a day and a half wasn’t a particularly long time to keep her out of the loop; perhaps she was just being impatient. But the fact remained that relationships didn’t pop up out of nowhere. If he was dating someone, it had been building up for a while, and she’d still heard nothing about it. She’d almost have been impressed about his ability to hide it from her, if the implications about the level of mistrust towards her weren’t so disheartening.

Then again, with the amount of pure _warmth_ radiating from him, it was hard to be upset. This was the happiest she’d seen him in a while.

She cleared her throat and addressed the driver. “Take us back to the hotel,” she commanded imperiously, and the man nodded slightly in the rearview mirror.

“I thought you wanted to keep shopping,” said Adrien, a puzzled look on his face. “That’s why you dragged me out here, isn’t it?”

“I changed my mind,” she said lightly. “I want to go home.”

“Oh, okay.” His brows were still furrowed together, but he shrugged. “If you say so. Would you mind dropping me off at—”

“Hang on, I never said you could _leave_. You’re not getting rid of me _quite_ so easily.”

“But—”

“ _Manicures_ , Adrien,” she said emphatically. “And _ice cream_. It’s been _ages_ since we’ve hung out properly, I want to do it _right_.”

He opened his mouth to protest and sighed instead, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a defeated grin. “Fine,” he said. “You win.”

She clapped her hands together triumphantly. “I always do,” she smirked at him.

Later, in her room, surrounded by all the toppings required for the _ultimate_ ice cream sundaes, with some trashy reality show playing unnoticed on her giant television, she glanced up to see him lost in thought again, the hint of a smile on his face. She dipped the brush back into the bottle of lime-green polish and adjusted her grip on his fingers.

“Tell me about her,” she prompted quietly.

He turned to her with a start, nearly knocking the brush out of her hand. “What?”

“Careful,” she admonished, giving him a disapproving glare. “If I get nail polish all over the carpet, _you’re_ footing the cleaning bill.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

“Tell me about her,” she said again, more gently this time.

He looked away again. “There’s nothing to tell,” he insisted hoarsely.

“Liar,” she chastised, not unkindly.

“Am not,” he protested. She met his eye, a single eyebrow raised. “Am not,” he repeated, even less convincingly.

She sighed. “If you really don’t want to tell me a name, that’s fine. Whatever. I’ll find out eventually. But don’t, like, pretend she doesn’t exist. I’m not stupid.” She squinted at him, a new thought striking her. “Or is it ‘he’? Is that why you don’t want to tell me? Because it’s fine if—”

“No, it’s — it’s not that, I…” He sighed, bit his lip, his free hand wandering upwards to rub absently at the back of his neck. “It’s just… complicated, okay?”

“Adrien, my sweet, sweet imbecile, I am the _queen_ of complicated. Have you _met_ my last three exes?”

He laughed at that, but when the mirth melted away he still looked torn. She let him wrestle with himself in silence as she applied a coat to his middle finger with meticulous precision. “You can’t tell a soul,” he said finally, reluctantly.

“Of course not,” she replied immediately. He shook his head.

“No, I _mean_ it, Chloé,” he said, and she looked up to see a surprising desperation in his eyes, heard an urgency in his voice she didn’t expect. “Seriously, you can’t say a _word_ , not to _anyone_. Nobody can know about this, and I _mean_ it. _Absolutely nobody_ , do you understand?”

She blinked. “I understand, Adrien,” she said. She didn’t understand _why_ , but she understood. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

He looked relieved, but he didn’t speak again for a few minutes. She assumed he was searching for the words. She’d nearly finished his pinky when the silence finally broke.

“She’s my best friend,” he said quietly.

Chloé glanced up. “I thought _I_ was your best friend,” she said glibly, and fought hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

He grinned. “I can have more than one, can’t I?” he said. “What about Nino?”

She shrugged. “Boys are different,” she said. “Besides, there’s ‘best friends,’ and then there’s ‘ _best friends.’_ There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, I guess there is,” he agreed thoughtfully, and the tone of his voice made her think she wasn’t being put in the latter category at the moment. She dropped his hand and extended her palm for the other. He gave it to her without a second glance. “She’s beautiful,” he added.

Chloé made a non-committal noise that could have sounded like encouragement to someone who wasn’t listening very closely. Luckily, Adrien’s attention was currently elsewhere.

“She… she makes me feel… _brighter_ , somehow. Like the whole world lights up when she’s around.” His eyes had a faraway look in them, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. She glanced back down at his nails. “I just get so… _warm_ around her, y’know? Like my whole chest just…” He gestured vaguely, nearly upsetting the nail polish bottle for the second time.

She slapped his hand lightly as she retrieved it. “What did I say?” she chided.

“Sorry, Chloé, I just…” He sighed. “She’s a good person. Like, all she wants to do is help people. It’s practically her job.” He glanced at her, and added, “I think you’d really like her.” He giggled, and Chloé had the distinct impression it was at some inside joke she wasn’t privy to. “And she’s really smart and resourceful, and she just… she _gets_ me. I can tell her things I can’t tell anyone else.”

She concentrated on evening out the polish.

“And she’s funny, did I mention she was funny? She even laughs at my puns.”

“Those god-awful things?” said Chloé with a snort. “ _Clearly_  her sense of humor isn’t _that_ great.”

“Shut up, I’m hilarious.” His voice had taken on a dreamlike quality. “She has the most gorgeous laugh, you know.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He exhaled something that sounded like a sigh and a chuckle all at once. “I didn’t think she liked me back. For the longest time. I wasn’t even going to tell her.” Pink creeped back into his cheeks. “And then she kissed me.”

This really was an obnoxious shade of green, Chloé decided, but that was the one he’d picked. She went to work on his ring finger.

“I never understood what they said about fireworks,” he admitted shyly. “Not until then.”

Chloé cursed loudly as the brush finally skittered across his cuticle. It was an easily rectifiable mistake, hardly a disaster, but she lashed out anyway. “I _told_ you not to move!” she said angrily, jamming the cap back on the bottle.

“Sorry,” he apologized, startled by her outburst.

She waved him away. “Where are those cotton balls?” she muttered irritably, reaching for the nail polish remover.

He handed them to her gingerly, and she yanked the offending hand back, scrubbing viciously at the ruined nail with the acetone soaked cotton. She worked in silence for a while, the tension in the air palpable.

Finally he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry? What are you sorry for?” she said distractedly, tossing aside the used cotton ball and reaching for the clear base coat again.

“I was worried you might be—” He paused, started over. “I told you too much. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I’m not—” she began in a high pitched protest, stopped, composed herself. “I’m not jealous,” she finished in a low voice.

“I’m not saying you are!” he said hurriedly.

“Good, because I’m not.” She finished the base coat and screwed the cap back on the bottle. There was another moment of silence. “Well, go on,” she prompted.

He blinked at her. “Go on? Are you sure?”

“You were just getting to the good part, weren’t you? Well?” She flapped her hands at him and opened the green polish. “Get on with it.” He looked at her uncertainly as she inspected his nails. “I swear to God, Adrien,” she said without looking up, “tell me more about the goddamn fireworks or I’ll dump this nail polish all over your perfect shiny hair.”

His face split into another bashful smile. “We’d been arguing,” he said. “I didn’t think she’d want to _talk_ to me anymore that night, let alone…” He shrugged with one shoulder, ears turning red again. “Have you ever kissed someone in the rain?”

“Look at you, just chock-full of romantic clichés.” She poked gingerly at the thin base coat with a nail to make sure it was dry. “Next you’ll tell me she has dementia and you’re documenting everything in your journal to help her remember when she’s old.”

He chuckled. “It sounds kind of silly when I say it out loud.”

She pursed her lips. “Not silly. Just clichéd.” She painted the nail green in three quick strokes and released his wrist. “Other hand, please.”

He complied and looked thoughtfully into the distance. “She’s totally out of my league,” he said absently.

Chloé snorted. “Well, _that’s_ a load of bullshit if I ever heard it.”

“It’s _true_ ,” he insisted fervently. “She’s nice and funny and so pretty I want to _die_.”

“Then perish.” She caught his eye and smirked. “This kiss of yours… It wouldn’t have happened night before last, would it have?”

He looked startled. “How did you know that?” he asked nervously.

She shrugged. “The rainstorm the other night. Although _why_ you’d be out in it except for your random little fairytale moment I have no idea.” She put on the second thumb coat with a flourish. “Also, you’ve spent the last two days looking like someone slipped you some E. Your poker face is _terrible_.”

He wrinkled his nose. “It is _not_. Why do people keep saying that?”

“That you look blissed out as hell? Because you _do_. And just as a side note, you should tell your friend Nico or whatever his name is to be more careful where he decides to interrogate people. _Anyone_ could have walked in on your little conversation yesterday.”

“His name is _Nino_ , which I _know_ you know, so don't be a jerk, and what the _hell_ , Chloé? You were _listening_?”

“Not for long,” she sniffed. “Sabrina went looking for me and dragged me off to lunch. Thanks for the concern after the Akuma attack, by the way, it’s not like I almost _died_ or anything.”

“You were _fine_. And I don’t appreciate you eavesdropping on us.”

“You didn’t seem to mind much when Marinette was defending your sorry ass a few months back, did you?” she countered smoothly, and was pleased to note the embarrassed flush as she swapped hands. “Anyway, if _I_ had to wrestle this hard to get you to acknowledge this girl even _exists_ , I can’t imagine you said anything particularly incriminating.”

“That’s not the point,” said Adrien, ears red.

“No, the point is that you’re being a hypocrite,” she said sharply. “Besides, I was _concerned_.”

“I see.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You were avoiding me.”

“Was not.”

“Were too, and the fact that you’ve spent the entire afternoon looking like you’d rather be anywhere but here is doing _nothing_ to convince me otherwise.”

His expression softened, sobered. “I’m sorry, Chloé. I haven’t been a very good friend to you lately, have I?”

She shrugged. “Hey, I wouldn’t win any awards lately for this relationship either. But we’re here now, and your nails are looking _fabulous_.”

He grinned. “They are, aren’t they?” he said, examining her work on his free hand.

“Top coat next, and then it’s my turn.”

“Yellow again?”

“ _Obvi_.” She looked at him, examining his face, and their eyes met. “You’re going to see her again today, aren’t you? That’s why you can hardly sit still.”

He glanced away, looking embarrassed. “Is it that obvious?” he mumbled.

“Terrible poker face, remember?” She paused in her search for the top coat and pursed her lips. “Are you happy? Like, really _truly_ happy?”

That smile again. “Yes.”

She tapped his chin. “Then don’t be embarrassed. You have my blessing. She may do with you as she will.”

The smile turned into a grin. “Really?”

“Ew, gross, don’t look so eager. Yes.” She unscrewed the cap and scraped off the excess polish. “But you can tell her from me that if she ever hurts you, I’ll rip her eyes out myself.”

He laughed. “I’ll be sure to relay the message.”

“I’m serious, I don’t care you won’t tell me her name. I’ll track her down and flay her alive. You can quote me on that.”

“Noted.” His voice softened. “Thanks, Chloé. I didn’t realize how much I needed to say all that stuff out loud.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

He left a few hours later, ice cream eaten, Kardashians sufficiently kept up with, their matching manicures finished to perfection. She lay there alone on her couch, staring up at the ceiling, not noticing or caring that the TV was still blaring with the exploits of various housewives. There was a pit in her stomach, one she refused to identify, but which sat there, cold and unpleasant and filling her with thoughts she didn’t want and couldn’t ignore.

She hadn’t been lying when she told him they had her blessing. That love she felt for him hadn’t changed. She knew she couldn’t make him that happy — had known and accepted it for years. She _wanted_ him to be with someone else; the expression on his face was more than enough proof that this was the way it should be.

Still, she’d lied to him earlier, here in her room. She’d heard a fair bit of the conversation, and even in her own head she couldn’t pretend it hadn’t made her feel certain things. Things she preferred not to address, but which seemed intent on addressing _her_.

They were in the same class the period before lunch, but it had been hard to spy since Adrien and Nino had chosen to sit further back in the classroom than when her suspicions had been first raised — in the second-to-last row, in fact. How inconsiderate. She had compromised by seating herself in the very back, across the aisle from them, so as to easier observe. Her vantage point wasn’t great, but it gave her more than enough ammo as she glanced periodically over through the curtains of her hair. After first period, when the day had turned interesting, she’d slipped into the bathroom to painfully remove her ponytail for better cover.

Thank God she always carried a brush and hairspray in case of emergencies. Nothing was worth a bad hair day, not even this — she had _standards_ , after all.

Her seat gave her a mostly unobstructed view of the back of Adrien’s head and a bit of his profile. He was slumping — no, _lounging_ — with face in hand, staring off into space. He of the perfect posture and perfect grades was practically sliding out of his seat and, although he had his books out and a pencil in hand, he never moved to take a single note.

He _always_ took notes. Sometimes even _Sabrina_ would borrow his notes, they were so meticulous. If she hadn’t suspected something was off before, she definitely did now.

Occasionally a grin would ghost across his face, or his eyelids would droop — not in sleep but in memory, as if savoring something only he knew of. At one point she almost thought he bit his lip, but that turned out to be just the shape of his mouth at this angle. The minutes oozed by with agonizing slowness until she wanted to crawl out of her skin. She was _itching_ to talk to him, corner him at lunch, but when the bell rang it turned out she wasn’t the only one with that idea.

Nino packed up his things at an even slower pace than she did, until she had no choice but to exit the classroom or chase the boy out. She’d ground her teeth in frustration, but slipped out unseen behind Ivan’s girth. She wouldn’t chase him away. She was a _good person_.

But not so good that she was above eavesdropping. Or, perhaps, that was a testament to how good a friend she was. She was simply looking out for Adrien, whether he knew about it or not. Sure, it was _technically_ a dick move, but ignoring any useful information that might help her understand what her friend was going through would be worse, right? Sure, she could roll with that logic.

She had pretended to be checking her makeup in a compact as the halls emptied around her. _‘I better get some good goddamn intel out of this,’_ she’d thought, smoothing out an imaginary flyaway lock of her flawless hair. It killed her to lurk about like some common thug — she was made for the _spotlight_ , not _shadows_ — and hiding from _Adrien goddamn Agreste_ of all people at that, but alas, certain sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

When it was quiet enough to listen, she pressed herself against the doorframe. The nice thing about boys was they didn’t always think things through properly. Nino might have though he was being slick, waiting to have his private conversation until the classroom was empty. But a girl would have waited until the halls were empty too. A girl would have checked.

A girl would have closed the goddamn door.

“…What, did you get laid or something?”

 _‘Good boy,’_ she’d thought. She had to hand it to Nino, even if only in the smallest of ways; at least he didn’t waste any time getting to the point.

Adrien mumbled something that sounded like a half-hearted denial, while Nino crowed with triumphant laughter. She almost wished she could see Adrien’s face — it was probably hilarious — but she wished Nino would shut up. It wasn’t _that_ funny.

There was some more blabbering about girls it could have been — Chloé rolled her eyes as her brain automatically tuned it out. Stéphanie Delacroix _wished_ she could get a piece of that. She almost wished she had visuals to go with the audio, as the blush accompanying Adriens blustering denials must have been incredible. _‘Boys,’_ she thought derisively. Two heads, and they were always thinking with the wrong one.

Then Nino fell quiet. She couldn’t see either of them, but something about the quality of the silence had felt pregnant somehow, loaded.

“Oh my God,” said Nino’s voice, strangled and breathless.

She inched closer.

“Please tell me you didn’t hook up with Marinette.”

Oh. Oh, this was _too good_.

“I — what… _No_ , of _course_ not!”

“Oh my God.”

Chloé had many opinions on Adrien’s other friends, whether or not she cared to admit it, or bother remembering their names after collège, but one thing she had never pegged Nino for was an idiot. If he thought something was up between Adrien and his precious Marinette, she wouldn’t discredit it that easily. Even _she_ could see the tension between the two from a mile away; hadn’t she chewed Adrien out herself for fucking it up? Gone to see the girl to reassure her? At her _house_ , no less? The only surprise here was that Adrien had apparently gone for it after all.

 “…I mean, I know you, like _just_ discovered you have hormones, but complicating this whole trainwreck with _sex_ is just—”

“I didn’t have sex with Marinette!”

That, and the fact that Marinette had ostensibly welcomed him with open arms. Chloé honestly didn’t think she’d had it in her.

Of course, jumping to conclusions helped no-one, but Adrien’s heated, stuttering denials wouldn’t have been convincing to a drunken walrus. If anything, he was only digging himself deeper with every syllable.

“…Asked me for advice on your _raging boner_?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, _come on_ , you wanted to bang her like a drum…”

This was better than a soap opera. Chloé had felt something rise in her, familiar as an old friend. That specific subset of glee that can only come from good gossip. And scheming. Her mind had been whirring on autopilot, filing the information away for later use, and already plotting six different ways she could use it to her advantage. She caught herself and forced herself to listen instead. She wasn’t going to _use_ it, not like that. This was recon. She wasn’t out to ruin anyone’s life.

Besides, what good would it do? Everyone who knew the pair of them from collège would think it was a grand idea, and as far as Marinette went, how could this possibly hurt her? Even if Adrien _was_ telling the truth and they didn’t hook up, knowing her crush was — at least sexually — attracted to her could only be a good thing.

Although, he _had_ rejected her pretty spectacularly, and she _was_ in the process of getting over him…

She shook her head sharply. _‘No,’_ she thought decisively. She had no reason to hurt Marinette. Not now, anyway.

And Adrien was her _friend_. She’d loved him once, or thought she did. She was a _good fucking person_.

“Where have you _been_?” demanded Sabrina’s voice suddenly, and Chloé whipped around to see her friend just standing there, hovering, really. “I waited for you by your locker and you never showed. What happened to your hair?”

“Something came up,” said Chloé dismissively, straightening. Something in her had felt suddenly protective, and she didn’t want Sabrina involved in it. “Honestly, you shouldn’t have waited. Don’t you have other friends?”

Sabrina looked hurt. “But I wanted to wait for you.”

Chloé sighed. Honestly. She cared about Sabrina, in her own way, but the girl could stand to grow a spine. “Whatever, let’s go.”

The strange thing was, replaying the memory, she realized that she hadn’t been jealous when she thought he’d been with Marinette. It was almost as if the girl was pure Chloé-Repellant, and whatever Marinette touched suddenly lost all appeal to her. That seemingly mutual attraction had been a major factor in getting over Adrien in the first place, after all. All she’d been able to think about during her “recon” was whether the conversation she heard could help or hurt Marinette — and now that Adrien had all but confirmed she _wasn’t_ the mystery girl in question? It was as if her crush was an old wound that had suddenly reopened, and all the bitterness and jealousy came pouring out.

He was her best friend, always had been, since they were kids and whether she deserved him or not. She loved him, as much as she had ever loved anyone. If that love had ever been _truly_ romantic and not simply a possessive childhood crush, well, it was overshadowed by that desire to see him smile.

 She rolled over, an arm flopping down to the floor. It wasn’t fair. Not to her, who thought she’d washed her hands of Adrien Agreste and his gorgeous smile. Certainly not to Adrien, whose only crime had been to fall in love with someone who wasn’t her. And the poor girl who’d captured his heart — Chloé couldn’t find it in herself to hate her, although every part of her screamed she should on principal alone.

And it wasn’t even _jealousy_ , not entirely. What it felt like was _loss_. Perhaps that was the thing. It had been easier to get over him when he was single, because she could pretend their incompatibility was by design. She could pretend the reason they’d never gotten together was her own choice, that the relationship upgrade she’d so desperately wanted once wasn’t worth her time, even though she’d never trade their friendship for all the ice cream and manicures in the world. Suddenly she had a real, tangible reason they couldn’t be together.

Somehow that made it harder.

She sat up, fixed her hair, and turned up the TV. 

 _‘Time for more ice cream,’_ she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are... This is it... The first official update since I caught up with season two. And I am _shook._ I'm shaken, not stirred. My entire family is vibrating. 
> 
> I  
> am  
>  _ **s h o o k e t h**_
> 
> @miraculousubs thank you for my life
> 
> Anyways the chapter is super late bc I rewrote it six times from scratch. And it took everything in me not to start attempt number 7 tbh. #perfectionistlife
> 
> ([tumblr.](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/))


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nino is let in on a secret and I wonder if it counts as a filler chapter if Plot Happens.

“You did _what_?”

Alya groaned and her eyes disappeared beneath her hands, glasses pushed up and perched precariously on the tips of her fingers. “I messed up so bad, didn’t I?” asked her muffled voice rhetorically.

Nino leaned back on Alya’s bed and adjusted his cap. “I just… _Why_ … What the _fuck_ , Alya?” he said. “Dumbfounded” wasn’t quite the right word to fully articulate how he was feeling, but it covered a lot of ground, he supposed. Of course, lexical semantics were the least of his concerns right now. “Why the _hell_ would you say that?”

“I don’t know! I just—” She gestured wildly and pointlessly with her hands, “—I guess I just… _forgot_ who I was talking to.”

“You _forgot_?” Nino gaped at her. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me? How do you _forget_ you’re shading someone to their _face_?”

“I didn’t _mean_ to!” Alya wailed. “It just… came out.”

“It just _‘came out’_?” repeated Nino incredulously. “Alya, you do realize Marinette is your _best friend_ , right? You didn’t think that, y’know, _maybe_ she wouldn’t appreciate her BFF shitting all over her like that?”

Alya let out another strangled noise of regret and buried her face again, shivering. “I _know_ ,” she moaned. “I don’t know what came over me!”

Nino exhaled in a puff, not quite a sigh, but not _not_ one either. “Have you talked to her about it?” He glanced over as she dragged her hands down her cheeks and her glasses slipped down her nose. “Since yesterday, I mean?”

“Kind of?” Her face scrunched up, nose wrinkling, and her glasses slipped down a little further. “I mean, how would I even _start_? She’s barely looked at me all day. I tried to say hi and she said hi back but it was too… _polite_ , I don’t know. I’ve been saving her seats and she says thank you and everything, but it’s like I’m anybody else.” Nino had never seen Alya cry, but he imagined that if he had, she would start off looking a little like she did now — hunched over, quivering, facial expression contorted strangely. She met his eyes. “She’s treating me like anybody else,” she said in a small voice.

He sat next to her quietly, not knowing what to say, and simply put his arm around her. She leaned into him, smelling of lavender and cinnamon, and he rested his cheek on her hair. “Why would you say something like that?” he asked finally.

“I don’t _know_ ,” she insisted.

“No, I know, but like… you don’t just say something like that out of _nowhere_.”

“We were talking about Ladybug and Chat Noir and I just showed her—” She stopped suddenly, pulling herself upright and out of his grasp. “I shouldn’t tell you,” she said.

“Tell me _what_?”

“No, it’s nothing.” She waved him away.

He fixed her with a _look_.

“No, honestly, I can’t tell you!” Her mouth was set. “I promised!”

Nino pursed his lips, thinking. “Is this about that weird secret project you’ve been working on?” he asked.

“ _No_ ,” she said, but she looked down, breaking eye contact.

“Alya, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s going on.” He nudged at her with his shoulder. “C’mon. I’m your _friend_. I won’t say anything.”

“I _know_ you won’t, but I still _promised_.” Her mouth was set in a hard line, but her eyes were still uncertain. “I’m not going to make things worse.”

“Make things — wait, you promised Marinette?” He paused. “Is this some kind of… weird _girl_ thing? Or—”

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’re such a _boy_ ,” she huffed. “No, it’s not a _‘girl thing.’_ It’s…” She hesitated, chewing on her lip for a moment.

Nino opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. He didn’t know _what_ , exactly, he intended to say, but was saved the trouble when Alya gave a rough shake of her shoulders and muttered, “Aw, fuck it,” and leaned over him for her laptop. Her unruly hair tickled his nose and he sneezed.

“Oh, _gross_ , did you just _sneeze_ in my _hair_?” she complained, touching the offending curls for any incriminating, undesired moisture. “After I decide to show you the secrets of the universe? Jerk.”

“Secrets of the universe? Please.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Don’t you give me that. I haven’t shown you anything; I can still kick you out, you know. Uneducated, unknowing…”

“Who’re you calling uneducated, Miss _‘Pretty please help me study for math class because my parents will kill me if I fail another test?’_ ” he teased.

Alya sniffed. “Journalists don’t need algebra,” she said primly. Opening the laptop, she tapped on a few keys and then stilled, biting her lip. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” she muttered, or something like it.

Nino sighed. “Listen, Alya, I don’t want to make things worse between you and Marinette, okay?” He caught her hand gently. “If there’s something you _really_ don’t think I should see—”

“No.” She breathed deeply. “It’s too — no, I have to talk to _someone_ about it, and I clearly can’t talk to Marinette, and… and you’re the only other person I can trust. I think you should know.”

“Are you sure?” Because suddenly _he_ wasn’t quite anymore.

She nodded. “You’ll understand,” she said.

And soon, he did.

They could have been sitting there for hours, or maybe even just a few minutes — Alya was a fast talker. Even with the breaks she took, to stop the head rushes and the budding migraines, time seemed to drag on and fly by all at once. She talked about magic and secrets and his head was spinning even when he looked away from the screen by the time she was done. When she finally finished, she looked at him expectantly. “You have any questions?” she asked.

“I — uh, yeah, a few,” he said dazedly.

“Hit me.”

“ _Why_?”

She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing this? I mean—” He gestured vaguely at nothing, “—didn’t she ask you to stop?”

Alya flushed. “Well, _yeah_ , but—”

“And didn’t you say _Chat Noir_ asked you to stop? And you _promised_ him you would?”

Alya pursed her lips. “I _did_ stop,” she said. “For a while. That’s why it’s taking so long.”

“What about Lady Wifi?” he asked, and she flinched. “What about the _Bubbler_? We know we can be Akumatized more than once.”

“I know,” she said stiffly.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You _asked_.”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t ask for _this_. If you told me so that I’d help you, I won’t, just FYI. Did you ever think what would happen if you actually figured out who they are? If _we_ did?”

“I _know_ , okay?” She ran her fingers through her hair absently. “I _know_. But I can’t _not_ help them if I can. If I knew who they were I could—”

“We’re not superheroes, Alya,” he interrupted. “If anything, the two of us could do more harm than good, considering who we were.”

“ _She_ isn’t me,” said Alya savagely, her hands stilling. Her eyes were hard, focused on some point on her duvet, jaw set, lips clenched in a thin line. “She’s not _me_ , she’s something that _happened_ to me.”

Nino softened. “I know,” he said quietly. He settled in closer to her, untangling her fingers from her curls. He let her relax, dropping the conversation for now. After a while, he asked, “What did this have to do with you and Marinette?”

She told him about Alix, about the list and the word vomit and Marinette’s face when it all happened. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” she finished. “It’s not that I don’t think she _could_ be. She’s the coolest, bravest person I know.”

“You should tell her that.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t _want_ her to be Ladybug.”

Nino glanced down at her. “Why not?”

She opened her mouth, closed it again. “We see what they go through,” she said quietly. “What they do every day. It’s _scary_. They get _hurt_. They could _die_.”

“What about Adrien?” She looked up and their eyes met. “Haven’t you spent the last six months trying to prove that Adrien is Chat Noir? And what if you were right? What if _my_ best friend in the whole world put on a mask and risked his life every day for this city? Why is _that_ okay and Marinette being Ladybug isn’t?”

Alya looked away again. “Of course I care about Adrien,” she said. “Don’t try and twist this, he’s my friend too. But he’s _strong_ , he’s athletic and fences and has a goddamn _personal trainer_. He can take care of himself, but Marinette trips up the stairs on her way to bed. She _can’t_ be Ladybug.”

Nino stared at her. “Are you _kidding_?” he said incredulously. “Did you completely forget a certain _parkour_ _incident_? Marinette is _shredded_. I’m pretty sure she has an eight-pack.”

“Muscles don’t equal _fighting_ _skills_. Or _basic hand-to-eye coordination_. Besides…” She paused, swallowed. “How could she lie to me like that?”

Nino stilled. The lying… He hadn’t thought about that. He considered the things Alya had showed him, considered the thought of Adrien being a superhero. Considered his best friend risking his life and lying to his face about it.

No, not now.

“Let’s hang out,” he said suddenly. “You, me, Adrien, Marinette.” She looked up at him and he smiled. “Saturday hangouts, remember those? Like we used to do in collège. Get the gang together and then just… _talk_ about it. Apologize properly. You’ll both be cooled off enough, don’t you think?”

Alya shrugged lopsidedly. “Yeah,” she said. “That sounds nice.” She glanced up at Nino, a worried frown tugging at her lips. “You ask her though,” she said nervously. “Just in case she turns it down.”

“She won’t.”

“I know, but… just in case?”

Nino slung his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. “Okay,” he said.

They were silent for a while. “Wanna watch a movie?” Alya asked finally.

“Sure,” he said. “Any suggestions?”

She shrugged. “There’s this new romantic comedy on Netflix that’s gotten some pretty good ratings.”

“You hate romantic comedies,” he laughed.

She grinned. “Yeah, but _you_ don’t.”

“Sounds good, then.”

She crossed the room with her laptop to plug it in to the TV and paused halfway across, turning to face him again. “I’m going to stop,” she said.

“Okay.”

“I _am_.”

“Okay.”

“I just have one thing to do first, and then I’m dropping the whole identity thing for good.”

Nino looked at her. “You promise?”

She shifted her grip on the computer and stuck out her hand. “Pinky promise.”

Their pinkies locked.

Just one more thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [slides into your notifications 4 months late with starbucks] SUP MY DUDES season 2 continues to slay my entire life ~~and completely destroy every single plot point in this whole goddamn fic~~ IT'S FINE
> 
> Also, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!!!!!!!!! Can y'all believe this fic is a whole year old today?? BC I SURE AS HELL CANT
> 
> A huge, massive, weepy thank you to everyone who has bookmarked, subscribed to, commented on, or given kudos to this fic. I know I'm not as fast at updating lately, and I suck at replying to comments, but I honestly would not have been able to keep writing without you all. I'm crying on the inside. Thank you, thank you, _thank you._ So very, very much.
> 
> Main tumblr [here](http://ladyofpurple.tumblr.com/), and my new writing blog [here](http://ladywritesthings.tumblr.com/)! Will be posting all future updates (including this one) and anything else I write on there as well. (Should I post the backlog too? I can't decide.)
> 
>  **EDIT:** Accidentally dropped a couple paragraphs towards the end D: Fixed now!! "Smooth comeback" is my middle name.


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